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^hc ''^xxxnaa I'octs" 



THE COMPLETE WORKS 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 



ARRANGED IN THEIR CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER 



Edited bv 

WrcrCLARK AND Wf ALOIS WRIGHT 



WITH AN INTRODICTION TO EACH PLAY, ADAPTED FROM THE -SHAKESPEAREAN PRIMER OF 

PROFESSOR DOWDEN 



VOL. II. 

IlllustrateO 



CHICAGO 

W. B. CONKEY COMPANY. 

1894. 



W. B. CONKEV COMPANY, 

Printers and Binde-RS, 

CHICAGO. 






CONTE]>fTS. 
VOL. II. 



King Hent!y IV,. Part Jl,. 

King IIenuy IV., Part II., 

King Henry V. J , 

The TAifiNG op the Shrew, 

The Merry Wives op Windsor, 

Much Ado About Nothing, 

Ab You Like it, „ , . 

Twelfth Night, , , , , 

Julius C^sAR, , . , . » 

Hamlet, ■<.... 

All's Well that Ends Well, 

Measure for MeasukE: 

Troilus and CrESSIDAj 

Othello, .... 



• • • • 



PAGE 

383 
414 
. 447 
481 
509 

564 
592 
. 618 
645 
686 

m 

. . '4(45 



KING HENRY IV. PART I 

(written about 1597-98.) 



INTRODUCTION. 

The two parts of K'mg Henry IV- may be considered as one play in ten acts. It is probable that 
Shakespeare wenv on with little or no delay from the tirst part to its continuation in the second. 
Both were written before the entry ot llie lust in the Stationers' register, Feb. L'5, 15y7-y8 ; for the 
entry shows that the name of the tat knight, who originally appeared in both parts under the name 
of Oldcastle, had been already altered to Falstaft'. Meres makes mention of Htnry J V. .• and Ben 
Jonson, in Every Man Out of His Humour (1599), alludes to Justice Silence, one of the characters of 
the Second Part of Shakespeare's pl;'.y . The materials upon which Shakespeare worked in Henry IV. 
and Henry V. were obtained from Holinshed, and from an old play, full of vulgar mirth, and acted 
before 15N8, The Famous Victories of Henry V. Both parts of Henry I V. conaist ot a comedy and a 
history fused together. The hero of the one is the royal Bolingbroke, the hero of the other is 
Falstatf, while Prince Henry passes to and fro between the history and the comedy, servino- as the 
bond which unites the two. Henry IV. is the same Bolingbroke who had been so gre.otly con- 
ceived in Richard II. ; only he is no longer in the full force of his manhood. He is worn by care and 
toil, harassed by revolts and conspiracies, yet still resolved to hold hrmly what he has forcibly at- 
tained. There is a pathetic power in the tigure of this weary ambitious man, who can take no rest 
until the rest of death comes upon him. Hotspur, who, to bring him into contrast with the Prince is 
made much younger than the Harry Percy ot history, is a-s ardent in the pursuit of glory as the 
Prince seems to be indifferent to it. To his hot temper aaid quick sense of personal honor small matters 
are great ; he does not see things in their true proportions ; he lacks self-control, he has no easiness 
of nature. Yet he is gallant, chivalrous, not devoid of generosity nor of quick affections, though 
never in a high sense disinteiested. Prince Hal, whom Shakespeare admires and loves more than 
any other person in English histoiy, afterwards to become Shakespeare's ideal king of England, 
rares little for mere reputation. He does not think much of himself and of his own honor; and 
while there is nothing to do, and his great father holds .ill power in his own right hand, he escapes 
from the cold proprieties of the court to the boisterous life and mirth of the tavern. He is, how- 
ever, onb waiting for a call to action, and ShakesJ)eare declares that from the first he was conscious 
of hisgrea*: destiny, and while seeniinLC to scr-tter his force in frivolity, was holding his true self, wel- 
guarded .in reserve Falstaff is everything in little, or rather everything in inncli ; tor is ha not a 
tun of tiesh? English literature knows no numorous creation to set beside Falstaff; and to find 
his equal—yet his opposite— we must turn to tlie gaunt llgure of the romantic knight of LaMancha, 
in whose person Cc antes smiled away pathetically the chivalry of the :\Iiddle Ages from out our 
modem world. Falstaff exercises upon the reader of these play.s much the same fascination which 
he exercised upon ihe Prince. We know him to be a gross-bodied, self-indulgent old sinner, devoid 
of moral sense and of self-respect, and yet we cannot part with him. We cannot live in this world 
withcit humor, and Falstaff is humor maintaining its mastery against all antagonisms. W^e ad- 
mit, however, the necessity of his utter banishment from Uenry, when Henry enters upon the grave 
responsibilifes of kingship. Still we have a tender thought for Sir John iii his exile from London 
taverns. And at the last, when he fumbles with the sheets and plays with flowers, when " a' went 
away, an it had been any christom child," we bid him adieu with a tear that does not forbid a smile, 
Ihe historical period represented bv 1 Henry /K. dates from the battle of Holmedon Hill, Sept. 14 
1402, to the battle of Shrewsbury, July 21, 1403. 2 Henry IV, continues the history to the king', 
death ajwi the accession of Henry V., 1413. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Kino Henry the Fourth. 

Henry, Prince of Wales, | 4. ^.i tt- 

.lOHN of Lancaster, } ''""^ ^ "^^ King, 

Earl ob' Westmoreland. 

Sir Walter Blttnt. 

Thomas Percy, Earl of Worcester. 

Henky Percy, Earl of Northumberland. 



Henry Percy, snrnamed Hotspttr, his sod 
Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March, 
Ricii.\RD Scroop, Archbishop of York. 
Arciiip.ald, Earl of Douglas. 
Owen Glendower, 
Sir Richard Vernon, 
Sir John Falstaff. 

(383) 



884 



KING HENRY TV. PART I. 



[Act I. 



Sir Michael, a friend to the Archbishop of 
York. 

POINS. 

Gadshill. 

Peto. 

Bardolph. 

Lauy Percy, wife to Hotspur, and sister to 
Mortimer. 



Lady Mortimer, daughter to Glendower, 

and wife to Mortimer. 
Mistress Quickly, liostess of a tavern in 

Eastcheap. 

Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintuer, Chamberlain, 
Drawers, two Carriers, Travellers, and 
Attendants. 

Scene : England. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. London. The palace. 

Enter King Henry, Lord John of Lancas- 
ter, the Earl of Westmoreland, Sir 
Walter Blunt, and others. 

King. So shaken as we are, so wan with 

care, 
Find we a time for frighted peace to pant. 
And breathe short-winded accents of new 

broils 
To be commenced in strands afar remote. 
•fNo more the tbirsty entrance of this soil 
Shall daub her lips with her own children's 

blood ; 
Nor more shall trenching war channel her 

fields, 
Nor bruise her flowerets with the armed hoofs 
Of hostile paces : those opposed eyes, 
Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven. 
All of one nature, of oue substance bred, 11 
Did lately meet in the intestine shock 
Aud furious close of civil butchery 
Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming rauks, 
March all oue way and be no more opposed 
Against acquaintance, kindred and allies : 
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife. 
No more shall cut his master. Therefore, 

friends. 
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ, 
Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross 
We are impressed and engaged to fight, 21 
Forthwith a power of English shall we levy ; 
Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' 

womb 
To chase tnese pagans in those holy fields 
Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet 
Which fourteen hundred years ago were nail'd 
For our advantage on the bitter cross. 
But this our purpose now is twelve month old, 
And bootless 'tis to tell you we will go : 
Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hear 
Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland, 31 
What yesternight our council did decree 
In forwarding this dear expedience. 

West. My liege, this haste was hot m ques- 
tion. 
And many limits of the charge set down 
But yesternight : when all athwart there came 
A post from Wales loaden with heavy news ; 
Whose worst was, that the noble Mortimer, 
Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight 
Against the irregular aud wild Gleudower. 40 



Was by the rude hands of that Welshman 

taken, 
A thousand of his people butchered ; 
Upon whose dead corpse there was such mis- 
use. 
Such beastly shameless transformation, 
By those Welshwomen done as may not be 
Without much shame retold or spoken of. 
King. It seems then that the tidings of this 

broil 
Brake off our business for the Holy Land. 
West. This match' d with other did, my 

gracious lord ; 
For more uneven and unwelcome news 50 
Came from the north and thus it did import : 
On Holy-rood day, the gallant Hotspur there, 
Young Harry Percy and brave Archibald, 
That ever-valiant and approved Scot, 
At Holmedon met. 

Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour, 
As by discharge of their artillery. 
And shape of likelihood, the news was told ; 
For he that brought them, in the very heat 
And pride of their contention did take horse, 
Uncertain of the issue any way. (31 

. King. Here is a dear, a true industrious 

friend, 
Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse, 
Stain'd with the variation of each soil 
Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours ; 
Aud he hath brought us smooth and welcome 

news. 
The Earl of Douglas is discomfited : 
Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty 

knights, 
Balk'd in their own blood did Sir Walter see 
On Holmedon' s plains. Of prisoners, Hotsijur 

took 70 

Mordake the Earl of Fife, aud eldest son 
To beaten Douglas ; and the Earl of Athol, 
Of Murray, Angus, aud Menteith : 
And is not this an honorable spoil ? 
A gallant prize ? ha, cousin, is it not ? 

West. In faith. 
It is a conquest for a prince to boast of. 
King. Yea, there thou makest me sad and 

makest me sin 
In envy that my Lord Northumberland 
Should be the father to so blest a son, 80 

A son who is the theme of honor's tongue ; 
Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant ; 
Who is sweet Fortune's minion and iier pride : 
Whilst I, by looking on the ju-aise of him. 
See riot and dishonor stain the brow 



Scene ii.] 



KING HENRY IV. PART I. 



385 



Of my young Harry. O that it could be proved 
That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged 
In cradle-clothes our children where they laj', 
And cail'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet ! 
Then would I have his Harry, and he mine. IK) 
JJut let him from my thoughts. What think 

you, coz, 
Of this young Percy's pride ? the prisoners, 
Wliic'.'. he in this adventure hath surprised, 
To his: own use he keeps ; and sends me word, 
I shall have none hut Mordake Earl of Fife. 
West. This is his uncle's teaching ; this is 

Worcester, 
Malevolent to you in all aspects ; 
Which makes him prune himself, and bristle 

lip 
Tlie crest of youth agahist your dignity. 

Kilt'/. But I liave sent for him to answer 
this ; 100 

And for this cause awhile we must neglect 
Our holy purpose to Jerusalem. 
Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we 
Will hold at Windsor ; so inform the lords : 
But come yourself with sjieed to us again ; 
For more is to be said and to be done 
Than out of anger can be uttered. 

West. I will, my liege. [Exeunt. 

ScENBlI. London. An apartment of the 
Prince's. 

Eater the Prince of Wales and Falstaff. 

Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? 

Prince. Thou art so fat-witied, with drink- 
ing of old sack and unbuttoning tliee after 
sup|)er and sleeping uiion benches after noon, 
that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly 
which thou wouldst truly know. What a devil 
hast thou to do with the time of the day ? 
Unless hours were cups of sack and minutes 
capons and clocks the tongues of bawds and 
dials the signs of leaping-houses and the blessed 
sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-colored 
taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be 
so superfluous to demand the time of the day. 

Fal. Indeed, you come near me now, Hal ; 
for we that take purses go by the moon and 
the seven stars, and not by Phoibus, he, ' that 
wanderi':'! knight so fair.' And, I prithee, 
sweet wa,;, when thou art king, as, God save 
thy grace, — majesty I should say, for grace 
thou wilt have none, — 20 

Prince. What, none ? 

Fal. No, by my troth, not so much as will 
serve to be prologue to an egg and butter. 

Prince. Well, how then ? come, roundly, 
roundly. 

Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou 
art king, let not us that are squires of tlie 
night's body be called thieves of the day's 
beauty : let us be Diana's forestei's, gentienien 
of the shade, minions of the moon ; and let 
men say we be men of good government, being 
governed, as the sea is, by our noble and chaste 
mistress the moon, under whose countenance 
we steal 



Prince. Thou saycst well, and it holds well 
too ; for the fortune of us that are the moon's 
men doth ebb and flow like the sea, being 
governed, as the sea is, by the moon. As, for 
proof, now : a purse of gold most resolutely 
snatched on Monday night and most dissci- 
lutely spent on Tuesday morning ; got witli 
swearing ' Lay by ' and spent with crying 
' Bring in ; ' now in as low an ebb as the foot 
of the ladder and by and by in as high a flow 
as the ridge of the gallows. 

Fal. By the Lord, thou sayest true, lad. 
And is not my hostess of the tavern a most 
sweet wench ? 

Prince. As the honey of Hybla, mj^ old lad 
of the castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most 
sweet robe of durance ? 49 

Fat. How now, how now, mad wag ! what, 
in thy quii^s and thy quiddities ? what a 
plague have I to do with a buff jerkin ? 

Prince. Why, what a pox have I to do witli 
my hostess of the tavern ? 

Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckon- 
ing many a time and oft. 

Prince. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy 
part ? 

Fal. No ; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast 

paid all there. (iO 

Prince. Yea,, and elsewhere, so far as my 

coin would stretch ; and where it would not, I 

have used my credit. 

Fal. Yea, and so u.sed it that, were it not 
here apparent that thou art heir a])parent— 
But, I prithee, sweet wag, shall there be gal- 
lows standing in England when thou art king? 
and resolution tlius foblied as it is with the 
rusty curb of old father antic the law ? Do not 
thou, when thou art king, hang a thief. 70 
Prince. No ; thou shalt. 
Fal. Shall I ? O rare ! By the Lord, I'll 
be a brave judge. 

Prince. Thou judgest false already : I 
mean, thou shalt have the hanging of the 
thieves and so become a rare hangman. 

Fal. Well, Hal, well ; and in some sort it 
jumps with my humor as well as waiting in 
the court, I can tell you. 

Prince. For obtaining of suits ? 80 

Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof 
the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, 
I am as melancholy as a gib cat or a lugged 
bear. 
Prince. Or an old lion, or a lover's lute. 
Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire 
bagpipe. 

Prince. What sayest thou to a hare, or the 
melancholy of Moor-ditch ? 

Fal. Thou hast the most unsavory similes 
and art indeed the most comparative, rascal- 
licst, sweet young jtrince. But, Hal, I prithee, 
troulile nic no more with vanity. I would to 
(Jod thou and I knew where a commodity of 
good names were to be bouglit. An old lord 
of the council rated me the other day in the 
street about you, sir, but I marked him not ; 
and yet he talked very wisely, but I regarded 
25 



886 



KING HENRY IV. PART I. 



[Act I, 



Him not ; and yet he talked wisely, and in tlie 
street too. 

Prince. Thou didst well ; for wisdom cries 
out in the streets, aud no man regards it. 100 

Fal. O, thou hast damnable iteration aud 
art indeed able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast 
done much harm upon me, Hal ; God forgive 
thee for it ! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew 
nothing ; and now ami, if a man should speak 
truly, little better tluvu oue of the wicked. I 
must gis'e over this life, and I will give it over: 
by the Lord, and I do not, I am a villain : I'll 
be damned for never a king's sou in Christeu- 
dom. 

Prince. Where shall we take a purse to- 
morrow, Jack ? Ill 

Fal. 'Zounds, where thou wilt, lad ; I'll 
make one ; an I do not, call me villain aud 
baffle me. 

Prince. I see a good amendment of life in 
thee ; from praying to purse-taking. 

Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal ; 'tis 
no sin for a man to labor in his vocation. 

Enter Poins. 

Poins ! Now shall we know if Gadshill have 
set a match. O, if men were to be saved by 
merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for 
him ? This is the mo.st omnipotent villain that 
ever cried ' Stand ' to a true man. 

Prince. Good morrow, Ned. 

Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal. What 
says Monsieur Remorse ? what says Sir John 
Sack and Sugar ? Jack ! how agrees the devil 
and thee about thy soul, that thou soldest him 
on Good-Friday last for a cup of Madeira and 
a cold capon's leg V 129 

Prince. Sir John stands to his word, the 
devil shall have his bargain ; for he was never 
yet a breaker of proverbs : he will give the 
devil his due. 

Poins. Then art thou damned for keeping 
thy word with the devil. 

Prince. Else he had been damned for coz- 
ening the devil. 

Poms. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow 
morning, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill ! 
there are pilgrims going to Canterbury with 
ricli offerings, and traders riding to London 
with fat purses : I have vizards for you all ; you 
have horses for yourselves : Gadshill lies' to- 
night in Rochester : I have bespoke supper to- 
morrow night in Eastcheap : we may do it as 
secure as sleep. If you will go, I will stuff 
your purses full of crowns ; if you will not, 
tarry at home and be hanged. 

Fal. Hear ye, Yedward ; if I tarry at home 
aud go not, I'll hang you for going. 150 

Poins. You will, chops ? 

Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one ? 

Prince. Who, I rob ? la thief ? not I, Uy 
my faith. 

Fal. Tliere's neither honesty, manhood, 
nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou earnest 
not of the blood royal, if thou darest not stand 
lor tea shiUing^ 



Prince. Well then, once in my days I'll be 
a madcap. 160 

Fal. Why, that's well said. 

Prince. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at 
home. 

Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, 
when thou art king. 

Prvice. I care not. 

Poins. Sir John, I prithee, leave the prince 
and me alone : I will lay him down such rea- 
sons for this adventure that he shall go. 169 

Fal. Well, God give thee the spirit of per- 
suasion and him the ears of profiting, that 
what thou speakest may move and what he 
hears may be believed, that the true prince 
may, for recreation sake, prove a false thief ; 
for the poor abuses of the time want coun- 
tenance. Farewell : you shall find me in 
Eastcheap. 

Prince. Farewell, thou latter spring ! fare- 
well, All-hallown summer ! {Exit Falstaf. 

Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, 
ride with us to-morrow : I have a jest to ex- 
ecute that I cannot manage alone. Falstaflf, 
Bardolph, Peto and Gadshill shall rob those 
men that we ha\e already waylaid : yourself 
and I will not be there ; and when they have 
the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cu^ 
this head off from my shoulders. 

Prince. How shall we part with them in 
setting forth ? 

Poins. Why, we will set forth before or 
after them, and appoint them a place of meet- 
ing, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail, aud 
then will they adventure upon the exploit 
themselves ; which they shall have no soou«r 
achieved, but we'll set upon them. 

Prince. Yea, but 'tis like that they will 
know us by our horses, by our habits and by 
every other appointment, to be ourselves. 

Poins. Tut ! our horses they shall uot see: 
I'll tie them in the wood ; our vizards we will 
change after we leave them : and, sirrah. I 
have cases of buckram for the nonce, to im- 
mask our noted outward garments. 

Prince. Yea, but I doubt they will be too 
hard for us. 

Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them 
to be as true-bred cowards as ever turned 
back; and for the third, if he fight longer than 
he sees reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue 
of this jest will be, the incomprehensible lies 
that this same fat rogue will tell us when we 
meet at supper: how thirty, at least, he fought 
with ; what wards, what blows, what extrem- 
ities he endured ; and in the reproof of this 
lies the jest. 

Prince. Well, I'll go with thee : provide us 
all things necessary and meet me to-morrow 
night in Eastcheap ; there I'll sup. Farewell. 

Poins. Farewell, my lord. [Exit. 

Prince. I know you all, and will awhile 
uphold 
The unyoked humor of your idleness : 220 
Yet herein will I imitate the sun, 
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds 



Scene hi.] 



KING HENRY IV. PART I. 



387 



To smother up his beauty from the world, 
Tliat, when he please again to be himself, 
Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at. 
By breakiug through the foul and ugly mists 
Of vapors that did seem to strangle him. 
If all the year were playing liolidays, 
To sport would be as tedious as to work ; 
But when they seldom come, they wish'd for 

come, 230 

And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. 
Si, when this loose behavior I tlirow ofif 
.\nd [lay the debt I never promised, 
I5y how much better than my word I am, 
Uy so much shall 1 falsify men's hopes ; 
Antl like bright metjil on a sullen ground. 
My leforniation, glittering o'er my fault, 
Shall show more goodly and attract more 

eyes 
riian that which hath no foil to set it off. 
I'll so offend, to make offence a skill ; 240 

Redeeming time when men think least I will. 

[Exit. 

Scene III. London. The palace. 

Enter the King, Northumberi.and, Wor- 
cester, Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt, 

icith others. 

Kitifi. My blood hath been too cold and 
temperate. 

Unapt to stir at thc^e indignities, 

And you have found me ; for accordingly 
.ou tread upon my patience : but be sure 

I will from henceforth rather be myself. 

Mighty and to be fear'd, than my condition ; 

Whicli hatli been smooth as oil, soft as young 
down, 

And therefore lost that title of respect 

Whicli the proud soul ne'er pays but to the 
proud. 
War. Our house, my sovereign liege, little 
deserves 10 

Tlie scourge of greatness to be used on it ; 

And tliat same greatness too which our own 
liands 

Ha\e holp to make so portly. 
Xorlh. My lord, — 

Kiiii/. Worcester, get thee gone ; for I do 
see 

D.inger and disobedience in thine eye : 

O, sir, your presence is too bold and peremp- 
tory. 

And majesty might never yet endure 

The moody frontier of a servant brow. 

You have good leave to leave us : when we 
need 20 

Your use and counsel, we shall send for you. 

[Exit Wor. 

You were about to speak. [To Xorth. 

Xnrth. Yea, ray good lord. 

Those prisoners in your highness' name de- 
manded. 

Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took. 

Were, as he says, not with such strength de- 
nied 

As is deiiver'd to your majesty: 



Either envy, therefore, or misprision 
Is guilty of this fault and not my son. 

Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners. 
But I remember, when the fight was done, 30 
When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, 
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, 
Came there a certain lord, neat, and trimly 

dress'd. 
Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin new 

reap'd 
Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home ; 
He was perfumed like a milliner ; 
And 'twixthis finger and his thumb he held 
A pouncet-box, whicli ever and anon 
He gave his nose and took't away again ; 
Who therewith angry, when it next came 

there, 40 

Took it in snuff ; and still he smiled and 

talk'd. 
And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, 
He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly. 
To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse 
Betwixt the wind and his nobility. 
With many holiday and lady terms 
He question'd me ; amongst the rest, de- 
manded 
My prisoners in your majesty's behalf. 
I then, all smarting with my wounds being 

cold. 
To be so pesterd with a popinjay, 50 

Out of my grief and my impatience, 
Answer'd neglectingly I know not what. 
He should or he should not ; for he made me 

mad 
To see him shine so brisk and smell so sweet 
And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman 
Of guns and drums and wounds, — God save 

the mark ! — 
And telling me the sovereign'st thing on earth 
Was parmaceti for an inward bruise ; 
And that it was great pity, so it was. 
This villanous salt-petre should be digg'd 60 
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, 
•Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd 
So cowardly ; and but for these vile guns, 
He would himself have been a soldier. 
This bald uii jointed chat of his, my lord, 
I answer'd indirectly, as I said ; 
And I beseech you, let not his report 
Come current for an accusation 
Betwixt my love and your higli majesty. 
Blunt. The circumstance cousider'd, good 

my lord, 7C 

Whate'er Lord Harry Percy then had said 
To such a person and in such a place, 
At such a time, with all the rest retold, 
May reasonably die and never rise 
To do him wrong or any way impeach 
What then he said, so he unsay it now. 

Kiufj. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners, 
But with proviso and exception, 
That we at our own charge shall ransom 

straight 
His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer ; 80 
Who, on ray ,<oul, hath wilfully betrav'd 
The lives of those that he «itd lead to iSght 



388 



KING HENBY IV. PART I. 



[Act \. 



Against that great magician, damn'd Glen- 
dower, 
^V'hose daugliter, as we hear, the Earl of 

March 
Hath lately married. Shall our coffers, then, 
Be emptied to redeem a traitor home ? 
Shall we'bny treason ? and indent with fears. 
When they have lost and forfeited themselves ? 
No, on the barren mountains let him starve ; 
For I sliall never hold that man my friend 90 
Whose tongue shall ask me for one peuuy cost 
To ransom home revolted Mortimer. 

Hot. Revolted Mortimer ! 
He never did fall off, my sovereign liege, 
But by the chance of war : to jtrove that true 
Needs no more but oue tongue for all those 

wounds, 
Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he 

took. 
When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank, 
In single opposition, hand to hand. 
He did confound the best part of an hour 100 
In changing hardiment with great Glendower : 
Three times they breathed and three times did 

they drink. 
Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood ; 
Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks, 
Ran fearfuHy among the trembling reeds. 
And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank 
Bloodstained with these valiant combatants. 
Never did base and rotten policy 
Color her working with such deadly wounds ; 
Nor never could the noble Mortimer 110 

Receive so many, and all willingly : 
Then let not him be slander'd with revolt. 
King. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou 
dost belie him ; 
He never did encounter with Glendower : 
I tell thee. 

He durst as well have met the devil alone 
As Owen Glendower for an enemy. 
Art thou not ashamed ? But. sirrah, hence- 
forth 
Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer : 
Send me your prisoners with the speediest 
means, 120 

Or you shall hear in such a kind from me 
As will displease you. My Lord Northumber- 
land, 
We license your departure with your sou. 
Send us your prisoners, or you will hear of it. 
\_Exexint King Heimj, Blunt, and train. 
Hot. An if the devil come and roar for 
them, 
I will not send them : I will after straight 
And tell him so ; for I will ease my heart, 
Albeit I make a hazard of my head. 
North. What, drunk withcholer ? stay and 
pause awhile : 
Here comes your uncle. 

Re-enter Worcester. 

-Jfet Speak of Mortimer ! 130 

'Zounds, I will speak of him ; and let roy 

8onl 
Want m«rcy, if I do act join witli ]iiai : 



Yea, on his part I'll empty all these veins. 
And shed my dear blood drop by drop iu the 

dust, 
But I will lift tlie down-trod Mortimer 
As liigh in the air as this unthankful king, 
As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke. 
Xorth. Brother, the king hath made your 

nephew mad. 
War. Who struck this heat up after I was 

gone ? 
Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners ; 
And when I urged the ransom once again 441 
Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd 

pale. 
And on my face he turn'd an eye of death. 
Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. 
Wor. I cannot blame him : was not he pro- 
claim' d 
By Richard that dead is the next of blood ? 
North. He was ; I heard the proclama- 
tion : 
And then it was M'hen the unhappy king, — 
Whose wrongs in us God pardon ! — did set 

forth 
Upon his Irish expedition ; 150 

From whence lie intercepted did return 
To be deposed and sliortly murdered. 

Wor. And loi' whose death we in the world's 
wide mouth 
Live scandalized and foully spoken of. 
Hot. But, soft, 1 pray you ; did King Rich- 
ard then 
Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer 
Heir to the crown ? 
North. He did ; myself did hear it. 

Hot. Nay, then 1 cannot blame his cousin 
king. 
That wished him on the barren mountains 

starve. 
But shall it be that you, that set the crown ItiO 
Upon tlie head of this forgetful man 
And for his sake wear the detested blot 
Of murderous subornation, shall it be, 
That you a world of curses undergo, 
Being the agents, or base second means, 
The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather? 
O, pardon me that I descend so low. 
To show the line and the predicament 
Wherein you range under this subtle king ; 
Shall it for shame be spoken in these days, 170 
Or fill up chronicles in time to come. 
That men of your nobility and power 
Did gage them both in an unjust behalf. 
As both of you — God pardon it ! — have done, 
To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose, 
And jilant this thorn, this canker, Boling- 
broke ? 
And shall it in more shame be further spoken, 
That you are fooFd, discarded and shook off 
By hiin for whom these shames ye under- 
went ? 179 
No ; yet time serves wherein yon may redeem 
Your banish'd honors and restore yourselves 
Into the good thoughts of the world again. 
Revenge the ieepiug and disdain' d contempt 
Of thiai proud king, who studies day and alghfc 



Scene iii.J 



KING HENRY IV. PART I. 



389 



To answer all tlie debt he owes to jou 

Even with the bloody payment of your deaths : 

Therefore, I say, — 

Wor. Peace, cousin, say no more : 

And now I will unclasp a secret book, 
And to your quick-conceivuis discontents 
I'll read you matter deep and dangerous, liK) 
As full of peril and adventurous spirit 
As to o'er-walU a current roaring loud 
Un the unsteadfast footing of a spear. 
lliil. If he fall in, good night ! or sink or 
swim : 
Send danger from the east unto the west. 
So iionor cross it from the north to south, 
And let tliem grapple : O, the blood more stirs 
To rouse a lion than to start a hare ! 

Xortli. Imagination of some great exploit 
Drives him beyond the bounds of patience. 200 
Hot. By heaven, metliiuks it were an easy 
leap. 
To pluck bright honor from the pale-faced 

moon. 
Or dive into the bottom of the deep. 
Where fathom-line could never touch the 

ground. 
And pluck up drowned Innor by tiie locks ; 
So he that doth redeem her thence might wear 
Without corrival, all her dignities : 
But out upon this half-faced fellowshi[) ! 
Wor. He apprehends a world of figures 
here. 
But not the form of what lie should attend. 
Good cousin, give me audience for a while. 211 
//«'/. I cry you mercy. 
Wor. Those same noble Scots 

That are your prisoners, — 

Hot. I'll kee]i them all ; 

By God, he shall not have a Scot of them ; 
No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not : 
I'll keep them, by this hand. 

Wor. You start away 

And lend no ear unto my purposes. 
Those prisoners you shall keep. 

Hot. Nay, I will ; that's flat : 

lie .xaid he would not ran.som Mortimer ; 
Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer ; 220 
But I will find him when he lies asleep, 
And in his ear I'll holla ' Mortimer ! ' 
Nay, 

I'll have a starling shall be fciught to speak 
Nothing but ' Mortimer,' and give it him 
To keep his anger still iu motion. 
Wor. Hear you, cousin ; a word. 
Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy, 
Save how to gall and pinch thi." Bolingbroke : 
And that .same sword-and-bucKler Prince of 
Wales, 2;{0 

r>ut that I think his father loves him not 
kivX would be glad he met with some mis- 
chance, 
I would have him poison'd with a ix)t of ale. 
Wor. Farewell, kinsman : I'll talk to you 
When you are better temper'd to attend. 
North. Why, what a wasp-stong and im- 
patient fool 
Alt thuu to broak iuto tlUs wouuut's mood. 



Tying tliine ear to no tongue but thine own ! 
Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and 
scourged with rods, 
Nettled and stung with pismires, when I hear 
Of this vile pt)liticiau, Bolingbroke. 241 

In Richard's time, — what do you call the 

place ?— 
A plague upon it, it is in Gloucestershire ; 
'Twas where the madcap duke his uncle kept, 
His uncle York ; where I first bow'd my knee 
Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke,— 
'Sblood !— 

AVhen you and he came back from Kaveus- 
purgh. 
Xortli. At Berkley castle. 
Hot. You say true' : 250 

Why, what a candy deal of courtesy 
This fawning greyliound then did proffer me ! 
Look, ' when his infant fortune came to age,' 
And ' gentle Harry Percy,' and ' kind cousin;' 
O, the devil take such cozeners ! God forgive 

me ! 
Good uncle, tell your tale ; I have done. 

Wor. Nay, if you have not, to it again ; 
We will stay your leisure. 
Hot. I have done, i' faith. 

Wor. Then once more to your Scottish pris- 
oners. 25iV 
Deliver them up without their ransom straight. 
And make the Douglas' son your only mean 
For powers in Scotland ; which, for divers 

reasons 
Which I shall send you written, be assumed. 
Will easily be granted. You, my lord, 

[ To North umber la nil. 
Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd. 
Shall secretly into the bosom creep 
Of that same noble prelate, w ell beloved, 
The archbishop. 
Hot. Of York, is it not? 
Wor. True ; who bears hard 270 

His brother's death at Bristol, the Lord 

Scroop. 
I speak not this in estimation. 
As what I think might be, but what I know 
Is ruminated, plotted and .set down. 
And only stjiys but to behold the face 
Of that occasion that shall bring it on. 
Hot. I smell it : uiJon my life, it wiil do 

well. 
North. Before tlie game is afoot, thou still 

let'st slip. 
Hot. \Vhy, it cannot choose but be :\ uoble 
plot ; 
And tlien the power of Scotland and of York, 
To join witli Mortimer, ha ? 281 

Wor. And so they shall. 

Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd. 
Wor. And 'tis no little reason bids us 
speed. 
To save our heads by raising of a head ; 
For, bear ourselves as even as we am, 
The king will always think him in our debt, 
And think we think ourselves unsatisfied. 
Till he hatli found a time to pay us home : 
And see alieady kow he doth begin 



390 



KING HENRY IV. PART I. 



[Act il 



To make us strangers to his looks of love. 290 
Uot. He does, he does : we'll be revenged 
on him. [this 

Wor. Cousin, farewell : no further go in 
Than I by letters shall direct your conrse. 
Wlien time is ripe, wliicli will be suddenlj', 
I'll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer ; 
Wliere you and Douglas and our powers at 

once. 
As I will fashion it, shall happily meet. 
To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms. 
Which now we hold at much uncertainty. 
North. Farewell, good brother : we shall 
thrive, I trust. .'HX) 

Hot. Uncle, adieu : O, let the hours be 
short 
Till fields and blows and groans applaud our 
sport ! [Exeunt. 



ACT II. 

Scene I. Rochester. An inn yard. 
Enter a Carrier with a lantern in his hand. 

First Car. Heigh-ho ! an it be not four by 
the day, I'll be hanged : Charles' wain is over 
the new chimney, and yet our horse not 
packed. What, ostler ! 

Ost. [ Within] Anon, anon. 

First Car. I prithee, Tom, beat Cut's sad- 
dle, put a few flocks in the point ; poor jade, 
is wrung in the withers out of all cess. 
Enter another Carrier. 

Sec. Car. Peas and beans are as dank here 
as a dog, and that is the next way to give poor 
jades the bots : this house is turned upside 
down since Robin Ostler died. 

First Car. Poor fellow, never joyed since 
the price of oats rose ; it was the death of 
him. 

.SVc. Car. I think this be the most villanous 
hou.se in all London road for fleas : I am stung 
like a tench. 

First Car. Like a tench ! by the mass, 
there is ne'er a king christen could be better 
bit than I have been since tlie first cock. 20 

Sec. Car. Why, tliey will allow us ne'er a 
Jordan, and then we leak in your chimney ; 
and your chamber-lie breeds fleas like a loach. 

First Car. What, ostler ! come away and 
be hanged ! come away. 

Sec. Car. I have a gammon of bacon and 
two razes of ginger, to be delivered as far as 
Cliaring-cross. 

First Car. God's body ! the turkeys in my 
pannier are quite starved. What, ostler ! A 
piague on thee ! hast thou never an eye in 
thy liead ? canst not liear ? Ati 'twere iiot as 
good deed as drink, to break the jjate on thee, 
I am a very villain. Come, and be hanged ! 
hast no faith in thee ? 

Enter Gadshill. 

Gads. Good monow, carriers. What's 
o'clock ? 



First Car. I think it be two o'clock. 

Gads. I pray thee lend me thy lantern, to 
see my gelding in the stable. 

First Car. Nay, by God, soft ; I know a 
trick worth two of tliat, i' faitli. 41 

Gads. I pray thee, lend me thine. 

Sec. Car. Ay, when ? can'st tell ? Lend 
me thy lantern, quoth he ? marry, I'll see thee 
hanged first. 

Gads. Sirrah carrier, what time do you 
mean to come to London ? 

Sec. Car. Time enough to go to bed with a 
candle, I warrant thee. Come, neighbor 
Mugs, we'll call up the gentlemen : they will 
along with company, for' they have great 
charge. [Exeunt carriers. 51 

Gads. What, ho ! chamberlain ! 

Cham. [ Withi7i] At hand, quotli pick-purse. 

Gads. Tliat's even as fair as — at hand, 
quoth the chamberlain ; for thou variest no 
more from picking of purses tlian giving di- 
rection doth from laboring ; thou laye.st tlie 
plot how. 

Enter Cliamberlain. 

Cham. Good morrow. Master Gadshill. It 
holdf; current that I told you yesternight : 
there's a framtlin in the wild of Kent hath 
brought three hundred marks with him in 
gold : I heard him tell it to one of liis com- 
pany last night at supper ; a kind of auditor ; 
one that hath abundance of charge too, God 
knows what. They are up already, and call 
for eggs and butter ; they wiii away pres- 
ently. 

Gads. Sirrali, if they meet not with Saint 
Nicholas' clerks, I'll give thee this neck. 

Cham. No, I'h none of it : I pray thee, 
keep that for the hangman ; for I know thou 
worshippest St. Nicholas as truly as a man ef 
falsehood may. 

Gads. What talkest tliou to me of the 
hangman ? if I hang, I'll make a fat pair of 
gallows ; for if I hang, old Sii- John hangs with 
me, and tnou knowcst he is no starveling. 
Tut ! tliere are other Trojans that thou dream- 
est not of, the which for sport sake are con- 
tent to do the profession some grace ; that 
would, if matters should be looked into, for 
their own credit sake, make all whole. I am 
joined with no foot-land rakers, no long-statf 
si.xpeimy strikers, none of these mad mus- 
tachio purple-hued malt-worms ; but with no- 
bility and tranquillity, burgomasters and great 
oueyers, such as can hold in, such as will 
strike sooner than speak, and speak sooner 
tlian drink, and drink sooner than pray : and 
yet, 'zounds, I lie ; for they pray continually 
to their saint, the commonwealth ; or rather, 
not pray to her, but prey on her, for they ride 
up and down on her and make her their 
boots. 91 

Cham. What, the commonwealth their 
boots ? will she hold out water in foul way ? 

Gads. She will, she will ; justice hath li- 
quored her. We steal as in a castle, cock* 



Scene ii.] 



KING HENRY IV. PART I. 



391 



sure ; we have the receipt of fern-seed, we 
walk invisible. 

Cham. Nay, by my faith, I think you are 
more beholding to the night than to fern-seed 
for your walking invisible. 

Gads. Give me thy hand : thou shalt have 
a share iu our purchase, as I am a true man. 

Cham. Nay , rather let me have it, as you 
are a false thief. 

Gads. Go to ; ' homo ' is a common name to 
all men. Bid the ostler bring my gelding out 
of the stable. Farewell, you muddy knave. 

\_Exeunt. 

Scene II. The highwatj, near Gadshill. 
Enter Prince Henry and Poms. 

Poins. Come, shelter, shelter : I have re- 
moved Falstaff's horse, and lie frets like a 
gummed velvet. 

Prince. Stand close. 

Enter Falstaff. 

Fal. Poins ! Poins, and be hanged ! Poins! 

Prince. Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal ! 
what a brawling dost thou keep 1 

Fal. Where's Poins, Hal ? 

Prince. He is walked up to the top of the 
hill : I'll go seek him. 9 

Fal. I am accursed to rob in that thief's 
company : the rascal hath removed my horse, 
and tied him I know not where. If I travel but 
four foot by the squier further afoot, I shall 
break ray wind. Well, I doubt not but to die 
a fair death for all this, if I 'scape hanging 
for killing that rogue. I have forsworn his 
company hourly any time this two and twen- 
ty years, and yet I am bewitched with the 
rogue's company. If tlie rascal hath not given 
me medicines to make me love him, I'll be 
hanged ; it could not be else ; I have drunk 
medicines. Poins ! Hal ! a plague upon you 
both ! Bardolph ! Peto ! I'll starve ere I'll 
rob a foot further. An 'twere not as 
good a deed as drink, to turn true man and 
to leave these rogues, I am the veriest var- 
let that ever chewed with a tooth. Eight 
yards of uneven ground is threescore and ten 
miles afoot with nie ; and the stony-hearted 
villains know it well enough : a jilague upon 
it when thieves ciinnot be true one to another! 
[Tlieij lohistle.] Whew! A plague upon you 
all ! ' Give me my horse, yon rogues ; give me 
my horse, and be hanged ! 

Prince. Peace, ye fat-guts ! lie down ; lay 
thine ear close to the ground and list if thou 
canst hear the tread of travellers. 

Fal. Have you any levers to lift me up 
again, being down? ''Sblood, I'll not bear 
mine own flesh so far afoot again for all the 
coin iu thy father's exchequer. What a plague 
mean ye to colt me thus ? 40 

Prince. Thou liest ; thou art not colted, 
thou art uncolted. 

Fal. I prithee, good Prince Hal, help me 
to my horse, good king's sou. 



Prince. Out, ye rogue I shall I be your 
ostler ? 

Fal. Go, hang thyself iu thine own heir- 
apparent garters ! It I be ta'en, I'll peach for 
tJiis. An I have not ballads made on you all 
and sung to filthy tunes, let a cup of sack be 
my poison : when a jest is so forward, and 
afoot too ! I hate it. 

Enter Gadshill, Baruolph and Peto with 
him. 

Gads. Stand. 

Fal. So 1 do, agamst my will. 
■ Poins. O, 'tis our setter : I know his voice. 
Bardolph, what news ? 

Bard. Case ye, case ye ; on with your 
vizards : there's money of the king's coming 
down the hill ; 'tis going to the king's exche- 
quer. 

Fal. You lie, ye rogue ; 'tis going to the 
king's tavern. 

Gads. There's enough to make us all. 60 

Fal. To be hanged. 

Prince. Sirs, you four shall front them in 
the narrow lane ; Ned Poins and I will walk 
lower : if they 'scape from your encounter, 
then they light on us. 

Peto. How many be there of them ? 

Gads. Some eight or ten. 

Fal. 'Zounds, will they not rob us ? 

Prince. What, a coward. Sir John Paunch? 

Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your 
grandfather ; but yet no coward, Hal. 71 

Prince. Well, we leave that to the proof. 

Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands be- 
hind the hedge : when thou needest him, theie 
thou shalt find him. Farewell, and stand la.«t. 

Fal. Now cannot I strike him, if 1 should 
be hanged. 

Prince. Ned, where are our disguises ? 

Poins. Here, hard by : stand close. 

{ExeMnt Prince and Poins. 

Fal. Now, my masters, happy man be his 
dole, say I : every man to his business. 
Enter the Travellers. 

First Trav. Come, neighbor : the boy shall 
lead our horses down the hill ; we'll walk 
afoot awhile, and ease our legs. 

TJdeves. Stand ! 

Travellers. Jesus bless us ! 

Fal. Strike ; down with them ; cut the vil- 
lains' throats : ah ! whoreson caterpillars ! 
bacon-fed knaves 1 they hate us youth : down 
with them : fleece them. 90 

Travellers. O, we are undone, both we and 
ours for ever ! 

Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied knaves, are ye 
undone ? No, ye fat chuffs ; I would yom 
store were here ! On, bacons, on ! What, vc 
knaves ! young men must live. You are grand 
jurors, are ye? we'll jure ye, 'faith. 
[Here they rob them and bind them. Exeunt- 

Re-enter Prince Henry and Poins. 
Prince. The thieves have bound the true 
xueu. Now could thou and I rob the thieves 



392 



KTNG HENRY IV. PART I. 



[Act It. 



aud go merrily to Loudon, it would be argu- 
ment for a week, laughter for a month aud a 
good jest for ever. 
Poins. Stand close ; I hear them coming. 

Enter the Thieves aciain. 
Fal. Come, ray masters, let us share, and 
then to horse before day. An the Prince and 
Poius be not two arraut cowards, there's no 
equity stirring : there's no more valor in that 
Poius than iu a wild-duck. 
J'rincc. Your money 1 
Poins. Villains ! 110 

[As they are sharing, the Prince and 
Poins set upon them ; they all ritn 
away ; and Falstaff, after a blow 
or two, runs aivay too, leaving the 
boot]/ behind them.'] 
Prince. Got with much ease. Now merril y 
to horse : 
The thieves are all scatter'd and possess'd with 

fear 
So strongly that they dare not meet each other ; 
Each takes his fellow for an officer. 
Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death. 
And lards the lean earth as lie walks along : 
Were 't not for laughing, I should pity him. 
Poins. How the rogue roar'd 1 lExeioit. 

Scene III. Warkviorth castle. 
Enter Hotspur, solus, reading a letter. 
Hot. ' But for mine own part, my lord, I 
could bo well contented to be there, in respect 
of the love I bear your house.' He could be 
contented : why is he not, then ? In respect 
of the love he bears our house : he shows iu 
tliis, he loves liis own barn better than he 
loves our house. Let me see some more. 'The 
purpose you undertake is dangerous ; ' — why, 
that's certaui : 'tis dangerous to take a cold, to 
sleep, to drink ; but 1 tell you, my lord fool, 
out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, 
safety. ' The i)urpose you undertake is dan- 
gerous ; the friends you have named uncer- 
tain ; the time itself uusorted ; and your 
whole plot too light for the counterpoise of so 
great an opposition.' Say you so, say you so? 
I say unto you again, you are a shallow 
cowardly hiud, and you lie. A\'hat a lack- 
brain is "this ! By the'Lord, our plot is a good 
plot as ever was laid ; our friends true aud 
constant : a good plot, good friends, and full 
of expectation ; an excellent plot, very good 
friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is this ! 
Why, my lord of York commends the ])lot and 
the general course of the action. 'Zounds, 
an I were now by this rascal, I could brain him 
with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, 
my uncle audmyself ? lord Edmund Mortimer, 
my loid of York and Owen Glendower? is 
there not besides the Douglas ? have I not all 
their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth 
of the next mouth ? and are they not some of 
them 8ct forward already? What a pagan 
rascal is this! an infidel! Ha! you shall see 
now la very sincerity of fear aud cold heart* 



will he to the king and lay open all our pro- 
ceedings. 0, I could divide myself and go to 
buffets, for moving such a dish of skim milk 
Avith so honorable an action ! Hang him ! let 
him tell the king : we are prepared. I will set 
forward to-night. 

Enter Lady Percy. 

How now, Kate 1 1 must leave you within these 
two hours. 

Lady. O, my good lord, why are you thus 
alone ? 40 

For what offence have I this fortnight been 
A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed ? 
Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from 

thee 
Thy stomach, pleasure and thy golden sleep ? 
Wliy dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth, 
Aud start so often when thou sit'st alone ? 
Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy 

cheeks ; 
And given my treasures and my rights of thee 
To thick-eyed musing and cursed melancholy? 
In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch'd, 
Aud heard thee murmur tales of iron wars ; 
Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed; 
Crv ' Courage ! to the field ! ' And thou hast 

talk'd 
Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tents, 
Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets, 
Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin, 
Of prisoners' ransom and of soldiers slain, 
And all the currents of a heady fight. 
Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war 59 
And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleeit. 
That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow 
Like bubbles in a late-disturbed stream ; 
And in thy face strange motions have ai)]iear'd, 
Such as we see when men restrain their breath 
On some great sudden hest. O, what portents 

are these ? 
Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, 
And I must know it, else he loves me not. 

Hot. What, ho ! 

Enter Servant. 

Hot. Is Gilliams with the packet gone ? 

Serv. He is, my hud, an hour ago. 

Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses 
from the sheriff ? 70 

Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even 
now. 

Hot. What horse ? a roan, a crop-ear, is it 
• not? 

Serv. It is, my lord. 

Hot. That roan shall by my throne. 

Well, I will back him straight : O esperance ! 
Bid Butler lead him forth into the ])ark. 

[Exit Servant. 

Lady. But hear you, my lord. 

Hot. What say'st thou, ray lady ? 

Lady. What is it can-ies you away ? 

Hot. Why, ray horse, my love, my horse. 

Lady. Out, you mad-headed a]ie ! 80 

A weasel hath not such a deal of .sjjleen 
As you are toss'd with. In faith, 
I'll knoyv your business, Harry, tiiat I will. 



Scene it.] 



KING HENRY TV. PART 1. 



393 



I fear my brother Jlortinier doth stir 
yXboiit Ills title, and liatli sent for you 
To line liis enter])vize : hut if yon go, — 

Hot. So far afoot, I shall he weary, love. 

Lutlij. Come, come, you jjaraquito, answer 
me 
Directly unto this question that I ask ; 
In faith, I'll break thy little linger, Harry, 90 
An if thou wilt not tell me all things true. 

Hut. Away, 
Away, you trifier ! Love ! I love thee not, 
Icare not for thee, Kate : this is no world 
To pl.'iy with mamnietsand to tilt with lips : 
We iimst have bloody noses and (!racl<'d crowns. 
And pass them current too. God's me, my 

horse ! 
What say'st thou, Kate ? what would'st thou 
h;ive with me ? 

Ludii. Do vou not love me ? do you not, 
indeed ? 9i) 

Well, do not then ; for since you love me not, 
1 will not love myself. Do you not love me ? 
Nay, tell me if you speak in jest or no. 

Jliil. Come, wilt thou see me ride ? 
And when 1 am o' horseback, 1 will swear 
1 lo\e thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate ; 
I uuist not liave you henceforth question me 
Whither I go, nor reason whereabout : 
Whither 1 uuist, I must ; and. to conclude, 
This evening uuist 1 leave you, gentle Kate. 
1 know youwise, but yet no farther wise 110 
Thau Harry I'eicy's wile : constant you are, 
Hut ,\et a W(^man : and for secrecy. 
No lady closer : fori well believe 
Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know ; 
And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate. 

/.-/(///. How! solar? 

U<il. Not an inch further. But hark you, 
Kate : 
Whither I go, thither shall you go too ; 
To-day will 1 set forth, to-morrow you. 
\\ill this content you, Kate ? 

Latli/. It nmst of force. [Exetnit. 120 



SCEKE IV. 



TJie Boar's-Head Tavern, 
Eastcheap. 



Enter the Pkince, and PoiNS. 

Princi'. Ned, prithee, come out of that fat 
room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. 

J'uiii.f. Where hast been, Hal ? 

Prnxe. Witli three or four loggerheads 
amongst three or four score hogsheads. I have 
sounded the very base-string of humility. 
Sirrah, I am sworn brother to a leash of draw- 
ers ; and can call them all by their christen 
names, as Tom. Dick, and Francis. They take 
it already upon their salvation, that though I be 
but Prince of Wales, yet I am the king of 
courtesy : and tell me flatly 1 am no proud 
.lack, like Palstaff, but a Corinthian, a lad of 
mettle, a good boy, by the Lord, so they call 
me, and when I am king of England. Tshall 
counnand all the good lads in Eastcheap. They 
call drinking deep, dyeing scarlet ; and when 
you breathe in your watering, they cry ' hem ! ' 



and bid you play it off. To conclude, 1 am so 
good a proficient in one quarter of an hour, 
that I can drink with any tinker in his own 
language during my life. I tell thee, Ned, 
thou hast lost much honor, that thou wert not 
with me in this action. But, .sweet Ned,— to 
sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this 
pennyworth of sugar, clapped even now into 
my hand by an under-skinker, one that never 
spake other Engii.sh in liis life than ' Eight 
shillingsaud sixpence,' and ' You are welcome,' 
with this shrill addition, 'Anon, anon, sir ! 
Score a pint of bastard in the Half-moon.' or 
so. But, Ned, to drive away the time till Fal- 
staff come, I prithee, do thou sfcuid in some 
by-room, while I question my puny drawer to 
what end he gave me the sugar ; and do thou 
never leave calling ' Francis,' that his tjile to 
me may l)e nothing but ' Anon.' Step aside, 
and I'll show thee a precedent. 

Poins. Francis ! 

Prince. Tliou art perfect. 

Poins. Francis! [Exit Poins. ■'.') 

Enter Francis. 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. Look down into 
the Pomgarnet, Ralph. 
Prince. Come hither, Francis. 

Fran. My lord ? 

Prince. How long hast thou to serve, Fran- 
cis ? 

Fran. Forsooth, five years, and as much 
as to — 

Poins. [Within'\ Francis ! 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. ,49 

Prince. Five year ! by'r lady, a long lease 
for the clinking of i)ewter. But, Fraiuis, 
darest thou be so valiant as to play the '^>w- 
ard with thy indenture and show it a fair pair 
of heels and run from it ? 

Fran. O Lord, sir, I'll be swoni ujwu all 
the books in England, I could find in rjy 
heart. 

Poins. [Within] Francis! 

Fran. Anon, sir. 

Prince. How old art thou, Francis ? 

Fran. Let me see — about Michaelmas next 
I shall be— 61 

Poins. [Withi7)] Francis ! 

Fran. Anon, sir. Pray stay a little, my 
lord. 

Prince. Nay, but hark you, Francis : for 
the sugar thou gavest me, 'twas a penny- 
worth, wast't not ? 

Fran. O Lord, I would it had been two ! 

Prince. I will give thee for it a thousand 
pound : ask me when thou wilt, and thou 
shalt have it. 70 

Poins. [ Within] Francis ! 

Fran. Anon, anon. 

Prince. Anon, Francis ? No, Francis ; but 
to-morrow, Francis ; or, Francis, o' Thurs- 
day ; or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. 
But, Francis ! 

Fran. My lord ? 

Prince. Wilt thou rob this leathern jerkin, 



894 



KING HENRY IV. PART I. 



[Act II. 



crystal-button, not-pated, agate-ring, puke- 
stocking, caddis-garter, smootli-tongue, Span- 
isli-pouch, — 80 

Fran. O Lord, sir, who do you mean ? 

Prince. Wliy, then, your brown bastard is 
your ouly drink ; for look you, Francis, your 
white canvas doublet will sully : in Barbary, 
sir, it cannot come to so much. 

Fran. What, sir ? 

Poins. [ Within] Francis ! 

Prince. Away, you rogue ! dost thou not 
hear them call ? 

[Here they both call him ; the drawer stands 
amazed, not knowing which way to go. 

' Enter Y'vaiaev 

Vint. What, standest thou still, and hear- 
est such a calling ? Look to the guests with- 
in. [Exit Francis.] My lord, old Sir John, 
with half-a-dozen more, are at the door : 
eliall I let them in ? 

Prince. Let them alone awhile, and then 
open the door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins ! 
lie-enter Poins. 

Poins. Anon, anon, sir. 

Prince. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the 
thieves are at the door : shall we be merry ? 

Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But 
hark ye ; what cunning match have you 
made with this jest of the drawer ? come, 
what's the issue ? 

Prince. I am now of all humors that have 
showed themselves humors since the old days 
of goodmau Adam to the pupil age of this 
present twelve o'clock at midnight. 

Re-enter Francis. 
What's o'clock, Francis ? 

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. [Exit. 109 

Prince. That ever this fellow should have 
fewer words than a parrot, and yet the son of 
a woman ! His industry is up-stairs and 
down-stairs ; his eloquence the parcel of a 
reckoning. I am not yet of Percy's mind, the 
Hotspur of the north '; he that kills me some 
six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, 
washes his hands, and says to his wife ' Fie 
upon this quiet life ! I want work.' 'O my 
sweet Harry,' says she, ' how many hast thou 
killed to-day ? ' ' Give my roan horse a 
drench,' says he ; and answers ' Some four- 
teen,' an hour after; 'a trifle, a trifle.' I 
prithee, call in Falstaflf : I'll play Percy, and 
that damned brawn shall play Dame Morti- 
mer his wife. 'Rivo!' says the drunkard. 
Call in ribs, call in tallow. 

Enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph, and 
Peto ; Francis following with wine. 

Poins. Welcome, Jack : where hast thou 
been? 

Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a 
vengeance too ! marrv, and amen ! Give me 
a cup of .^ck, boy. Ere I lead this life long, 
ril sew netner stocks and mend them and 
foot tUesE too A plague of all cowards 1 Give 



me a cup of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue 
extant ? [He drinks. 

Prince. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a 
dish of butter ? pitiful-hearted Titan, that 
melted at the sweet tale of the sun's ! if thou 
didst, then behold that compound. 

Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack 
too : there is nothing but roguery to be found 
in villanous man : yet a coward is Avorse than 
a cup of sack with lime in it. A villanous 
coward ! Go thy ways, old Jack ; die when 
thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not 
forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a 
shotten herring. There live not three good 
men unhanged in England ; and one of them 
is fat and grows old : God help the while ! a 
bad world, I say. I would I were a weaver ; 
I could sing psalms or any thing. A plague of 
all cowards, I say still. 

Prince. How now, wool-sack ! what mut- 
ter you ? 149 

Fal. A king's son ! If I do not beat thee 
out of thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and 
drive all thy subjects afore thee like a flock of 
wild-geese, I'll never wear hair on my face 
more. You Prince of Wales ! 

Prince. Why, you whoreson round man, 
what's the matter ? 

Fal. Are not you a coward ? answer me to 
that : and Poins there ? 

Poins. 'Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call 
me coward, by the Lord, I'll stab thee. 160 

Fal. I call thee coward ! I'll see thee 
damned ere I call thee coward : but I would 
give a thousand pound I could run as fast as 
thou canst. You are straight enough in the 
shoulders, you care not who sees your back : 
call you that backing of your friends ? A 
plague upon such backing ! give me them 
tliat will face me. Give me a cup of sack : I 
am a rogue, if I drunk to-day. 

Prince. villain ! thy lips are scarce wiped 
since thou drunkest last. 171 

Fal. All's one for that. [He drinks.] A 
plague of all cowards, still say I. 

Prince. What's the matter? 

Fal. What's the matter ! there be four of 
us here have ta'en a thousand pound this day 
morning. 

Prince. Where is it. Jack ? where is it ? 

Fal. Where is it ! taken from us it is : a 
hundred upon poor four of us. 180 

Prince. What, a hundred, man ? 

Fal. I am a rogue, if I were not at half- 
sword with a dozen of them two hours to- 
gether. I have 'scaped by miracle. I am eight 
times thrust through the doublet, four through 
the hose ; my buckler cut through and 
through ; my sword hacked like a hand-saw — 
ecce signum ! I never dealt better since I was 
a man : all would not do. A plague of all 
cowards ! Let them speak : if they speak 
more or less than truth, they are villains and 
the sons of darkness. 191 

Prince. Speak, sirs ; how was it ? 

Gads. We four set upon some dozen — 



Scene iv.] 



KING HENRY IV. PART I. 



898 



Fal. Sixteen at least, ray lord. 
Gads. And bound tliem. 
Peto. No, no, they were not bound. 
Ful. You rogue, they were bound, every 
man of them ; or 1 am a Jew else, an Ebrew 

Gads. As we were sharing, some six or 
seven Iresh men set upon us — 200 

Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come 
in the other. 

Prince. What, fought you with them all ? 

Fal. All ! I know not what you call all ; 
but if I fought not with fifty of them, 1 am a 
bunch of radish : if there "were not two or 
three and fifty upon poor old Jack, then am I 
no two-legged creature. 

Prince. Pray God you have not murdered 
some of them. 210 

Ful. Nay, that's past praying for : I have 
peppered two of them ; two 1 am sure I have 
paid, two rogues in buckram suits. 1 tell thee 
i what, Hal, if 1 tell thee a lie, spit in my face, 
call n)e horse. Thou knowest my old w.ard ; 
here I lay, and thus I bore my point. Four 
rogues in buckram let drive at me — 

Prince. What, four ? thou saidst but two 
even now. 

Ful. Four, Hal ; I told thee four. 220 

Poins. Ay, ay, he said four. 

Fal. These four came all a-front, and 
mainly thrust at me. I made me no more ado 
but took all their seven points in my target, 
tlms. 

Prince. Seven ? why, there were but four 
even now. 

Fal. In buckram ? 

Poins. Ay, four, in buckram suits. 

Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain 
else. 230 

Prince. Prithee, let him alone ; we shall 
have more anon. 

Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal ? 

Prince. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack. 

Fal. Do so, for it is worth the listening to. 
These nine in buckram that I told thee of— 

Prince. So, two more already. 

Fal. Their points being broken, — 

Poins. Down fell their hose. 239 

Fal. Began to give me ground : but I fol- 
lowed me close, came in foot and hand ; and 
with a thought seven of the eleven 1 paid. 

Prince. O monstrous I eleven buckram 
men grown out of two ! 

Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three 
misbegotten knaves in Kendal green came at 
my back and let drive at me ; for it was so 
dark, Hal, that thou couldst not see thy hand. 

Prince. These lies are like their father that 
begets them ; gross as a mountain, open, pal- 
pable. Why, thou clay-brained guts, thou 
knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson, obscene, 
greasy Uillow-catch, — 

Fal. What, art thou mad ? art thou mad ? 
is not the truth the truth ? 

Prii\ce. Why, how couldst thou know 
these meu in Kendal greeu, wbeu it was su 



dark thou couldst not see thy hand ? come, 
tell us your reason : what sayest thou ttf 
this ? 25a 

Poins. Come, your reason, Jack, your rea- 
son. 

Fal. What, upon compulsion ? 'Zounds, 
an 1 were at the strapiiado, or all tlie racks iu 
the world, I would not tell you on compul- 
sion. Give you a reason on compulsion ! if 
reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, I 
would give no man a reason upon compul- 
sion, I. 

Prince. Pll be no longer guilty of this sin ; 
this sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this 
horseback-breaker, tliis huge hill of flesh, — 

Fal. 'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, 
you dried neat's tongue, you bull's pizzle, you 
stock-lish ! O for breath to utter what is like 
thee ! you tailor's-yard, you sheath, you bow- 
case, you vile standing-tuck, — 

Prince. Well, breathe awhile, and then to 
it again : and when thou hast tired thyself in 
base comparisons, hear me speak but this. 

Poins. Mark, Jack. 

Prince. We two saw you four set on four 
and bound them, and we're master's of their 
wealth. Mark now, how a plain tale shall put 
you down. Then did we two set on you four ; 
and, with a word, out-faced you from your 
prize, and have it ; yea, and can show it you 
here in the house : and, Falstaff, you carried 
your guts away as nimbly, with as quick 
de.\terity, and roared for liiercy and still run 
and roared, as ever I heard bull-calf. What 
a slave art thou, to hack thy sword as thou 
hast done, and then say it was in tight ! 
What trick, what device,Vhat startiug-hole, 
canst thou now find out to hide thee from this 
opeu and ajjparent shame ? 

Poins. Come, let's hear. Jack ; what trick 
hast thou now ? 

Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he 
that made ye. Why, hear you, my masters : 
was it for me to kill the heir-apparent ? 
should I turn upon the true prince ? why, 
thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules : 
but beware instinct ; the lion will not touch 
the true prince. Instinct is a great matter ; I 
was now a coward on instinct. I shall think 
the better of myself and thee during my life ; 
I for a valiant lion,. and thou for a true prince. 
But, by the Lord, lads, I am glad you have 
the money. Hostess, clap to the doors : watch 
to-night, pray to-morrow. (iallauts, lads, 
boys, hearts of gold, all the titles of good fel- 
lowship come to you ! What, shall we be 
merry ? shall we have a i)lay extemjxjr.e '? 

Prince. Content ; and the argument shall 
be thy running away. 311 

Fal. Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou 
lovest me ! 

Enter Hostess. 

Host. O Jesu, my lord the prince ! 
Prince. How now, my lady the hostei^l 
what sayest thou to we 'i 



d96 



KING HENRY IV. PART I. 



[Act II. 



Host. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman 
of the court at door would speak with you : he 
Bays he comes from your father. 319 

Prince. Give him as much as will make 
him a royal man, and send him back again to 
ray mother. 

Fal. Wliat manner of man is he ? 

Iloat. An old man. 

Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at 
midnight ? Shall 1 give him his answer ? 

Prince. Prithee, do. Jack. 

F(d. 'Faitli, and I'll send him packing. 

[Exit. 

Prince. Now, sirs : by'r lady, you fought 
fair ; so did you, Peto ; so did you, Bardolph : 
you are lions too, you ran away upon instinct, 
you will not touch the true prince ; no, fie ! 

Bard. 'Faith, I ran when I saw others run. 

Prince. 'Faith, tell me now in earnest, 
how came Falstaff's sword so hacked ? 

Peto. Why, he hacked it with his dagger, 
and said he would swear truth out of England 
but he would make you believe it was done in 
fight, and (lersuaded us to do the like. 339 

Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with 
spear-grass to make them bleed, and then to 
beslubber our garments with it and swear it 
was the blood of true men. I did that I did 
not this seven year before, I blushed to hear 
his mon.strous devices. 

Prince. O villain, thou stolest a cup of 
sack eighteen years ago, and wert taken with 
the manner, and ever since thou hast blushed 
oxteuipore. Thou hadst fire and sword on 
tliy side, and yet tliou rannest away : what 
instinct hadst thou for it ? 350 

Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors ? 
do you behold these exhalations ? 

Prince. I do. 

Bard. What think you they portend ? 

Prince. Hot livers and cold purses. 

Bard. Choler, my lord, if riglitly taken. 

Prince. No,. if rightly taken, halter. 

Re-enter Falstaff. 
Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. 
How now, my sweet creature of bombast ! 
How long is't ago. Jack, since thou sawest 
thine own knee ? 361 

Fal. My own knee ! when I was about thy 
years, Hal, I was not an eagle's talon in the 
waist ; I could have crept into any alderman's 
thumb-ring: a plague of sighing and grief ! it 
blows a man up like a bladder. There's 
villanous news abroad : here Avas Sir John 
Bracy from your father ; you must to the 
coiu-t in the morning. That same mad fellow 
of the north, Percy, and he of Wales, that 
gave Amamon the bastinadoand made Lucifer 
;;uclvold and swore the devil his true liegeman 
ui)on the cross of a Welsh hook — what a plague 
call you him ? 

Poins. O, Glendower. 

Fal. Owen, Owen, the .same ; and his son- 
in-law Mortimer, and old Northumberland, 
and that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, 



that runs o' horseback up a hill perpendicu- 
lar, — 

Prince. He that rides at high speed and 
with his pistol kills a sparrow flying. 380 

Fal. You have hit it. 

Prince. So did he never the sparrow. 

Fat. Well, that rascal hath good mettle in 
him ; he will not run. 

Prince. Why, what a rascal art thou then, 
to praise him so for running ! 

Fal. O' horseback, ye cuckoo ; but afoot 
he will not budge a foot. 

Prince. Yes, Jack, upon instinct. 389 

Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he 
is there too, and one Mordake, and a thousand 
blue-caps more : Worcester is stolen away to- 
night ; thy father's beard is turned white with 
the news : you may buy land now as cheap as 
stinking mackerel. 

Prince. Why, then, it is like, if there come 
a hot June and this civil buffeting hold, we 
shall buy maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, 
by the hundreds. 399 • 

Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true ; it 
is like we shall have good trading that way. 
But tell me, Hal, art not thou horrible afeard ? 
thou being heir-apparent, could the world pick 
thee out three such enemies again as that 
fiend Douglas, that spirit Percy, and that devil 
Glendower ? Art thou not horribly afraid ? 
doth not thy blood thrill at it ? 

Prince. Not a whit, i' faith ; I lack some of 
thy instinct. 40; t 

Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to- 
morrow when thou comest to thy father : if 
thou love me, practise an answer. 

Prince. Do thou stand for my father, and 
examine me upon the particulars of my life. 

Fal. Shall I ? content : this chair shall be 
ray state, this dagger my sceptre, and this 
cushion my crown. 

Prince. Thy state is taken for a joined- 
stool, thy golden sceptre for a leaden dagger, 
and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful bald 
crown I 420 

Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite 
out of thee, now shalt thou be moved. Give 
me a cup of sack to make my ej'es look red, 
that it may be thought I have wept ; for I 
must speaii in passion, and I will du it in 
King Cambyses' vein. 

Prince. Well, here is my leg. 

Fal. And here is ray speech. Stand aside, 
nobility. 429 

Host. Jesu, this is excellent sport, i' 
faith ! 

Fal. Weep not, sweet queen ; for tricklmg 
tears are vain. 

Host. O, the father, how he holds his 
countenance ! 

Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my 
tristful queen ; 
For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes. 

Host. O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these 
harlotry i)layers as ever I see ! 

Fal. Peace, good pint-pot ; peace, good 



Scene iv.] 



KING HENRY IV. PART I. 



cy7 



ti(^kle-brain. TTarry, T flo not only ni.irvel 
wliere tlioii si^^nrlest thv tinw, but ;il.so liow 
tlioii art accoiupanicd : for tlioiigh tlie camo- 
mile, the more it is trodden on the faster it 
grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted the 
sooner it wears. That thou art my son, I liave 
partly thy mother's word, partly my own 
opinion, lint chiefly a villanoiis trick of thine 
eye and a foolish hangin'^ of thy nether lip, 
that doth warrant me. If then thou be son to 
me, here lies the point ; why, being .son to 
me, art thou so pointed at? Siiall the blessed 
sun of heaven prove a micher and eat black- 
berries ? a question not to be asked Shall 
the son of England prove a thief and take 
purses ? a que.-;tion to be asked. Tliere is a 
thing, Harry, whicli thou hast often heard of 
and it is known to many in our land by the 
name of pitch : this pitch, as ancient writers 
do rejiurt, doth defile ; so doth the company 
thou keeiicst : for, Harry, now I do not speak 
to thee in drink but in tears, not in pleasure 
but in passion, not in words only, but in woes 
also : and yet there is a virtuous man whom I 
have often noted in thy company, but I know 
not his name. 461 

Prince. Wliat manner of man, an it like 
your majesty ? 

Fal. A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a 
corpulent ; of a clieerful look, a pleasing eye 
and a most noble carriage ; and, as I tliink, 
his age some fifty, or, by'r lady, inclining to 
three score ; and now I remember me, his 
name is Falsfcitf : if that man should be lewdly 
given, he deceiveth me ; for, Hnrry, I see 
virtue in his looks, li then the tree niay be 
known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, 
then, peremptorily [ speak it, there is virtue in 
that FalstafT : him keep with, the rest banish. 
And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me, 
wliere hast thou l)een this month ? 

Prince. Dost thou speak like a king ? Do 
thou stand for me, and I'll play my fathei'. 

Fal. Depose nie ? if thou dost it half so 
gravely, so majestically, both in word and 
matter, hang me up liy the heels for a rabbit- 
sucker or a poulter's hare. 481 

Prince. Well, here I am set. 

Fal. And here I sbmd : judge, my masters. 

Prince. Now, Harry, whence come you ? 

Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap. 

Prmce. The complaints I hear of thee are 
grievous. 

Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false : nay, 
I'll tickle ye for a young i)riuce, i' faith. 48!' 

Prince. Swearest tiiou, ungracious boy ? 
henceforth ne'er loolc on me. Thou art vio- 
'ently carried away from grace : there is a devil 
haunts thee in the' likene.-is of an old fat man ; 
a tiui of man is thy companion. \\'hy dost 
thou converse with that trunk of humors, that 
bolting-hutch of beastliness, that swollen 
jiarcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, 
that stuffed doak-'jag of guts, that roasted 
JI iMuiiigtree o.x with the pudding in his belly, 
i.i.u reverend vice, that grev iuiquity, that 



father ruffian, that vanity in years ? Wherein 
is he good, but to taste sack and drink it ? 
wherein neat and cleanly, l)ut to carve a 
capon and eat it ? wherein cunning, but in 
craft? wherein crafty, but in villanv ? where- 
in villanous, but in all things ? wherein worthy, 
but in nothing ? 

Fal. I would your grace would take me 
with you : whom means your grace ? 

Prince. That villanous abominable mis- 
leader of youth, Falstatf, that old white-beard- 
ed Satan. 

Fal. My lord, the man I know. 510 

Prince. I know thou dost. 

Fal. But to say I know more harm in him 
than in myself, were to say more than 1 know. 
That he is old, the more the pity, his white 
hairs do witness it ; but that he is, saving 
your reverence, a whoremaster, that I utterly 
deny. If sack and sugar be a fault, God hel|) 
the wicked ! if to be old and merry be a sin, 
then many an old host that I know is damned : 
if to be i'at be to be hated, then Pharaoh's 
lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord ; 
banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish PoJus : 
but for sweet Jack Ealstaff, kind Jack Fal- 
staff, true Jack Falstjiff, valiant Jack Falstaff, 
and therefore more valiant, being, as he is, 
old Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's 
company, banish not him thy Harry's com- 
pany : banish plump Jack, and banish all the 
world. 

Prince. I do, I will. [A knockinf/ heard. 
{^Exeunt Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph. 

Re-enter Bardolph, runnin;/. 

Bard. O, my lord, my lord ! the sheriff 
with a most monstrous watch is at the doui-. 

/'((/. Out, ye rogue ! Play out the ))lay : I 
have much to say in the behalf of that Fal- 
staff. 

Re-enter the Hostess. 

Host. Jesu, my lord, my lord ! 

Prince. Heigh, heigh ! the devil rides upon 
a fiddlestick : what's the matter 7 

Ht),st. The sheriff and all the watcli are at 
the door : they are come to search the house. 
Shall I let theiii in ? 

Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal ? never call a 
true i>iece of gold a counterfeit : thou art 
essentially mad, without seeming so. 541 

Prince. And thou a natural coward, with- 
out instinct. 

Fal.' 1 deny your major : if you will deny 
the sheriff, so ; if not, let him enter: if I be- 
come not a cart as well as another man, a 
plague on my bringing up ! I hope I shall as 
soon be strangled with a halter as another. 

Prince. Go, hide thee beliind the arras 
the rest walk up above. Now, my mastcn 
for a true face and good conscience. 5{/ 

Fal. Both which I have had : but thefe 
date is out, and therefore I'll hide me. 

Prince. Call in the sheriff. 

[Exeunt all except the Prince and Peto. 



398 



KING HENRY IV. PART I. 



[Act III. 



Enter Sheriff and the Carrier. 
Now, master sheriff, what is your will with 
me? 
Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue 
and cry 
Hath follow'd certain men unto this house. 
Prince. What men ? 

Sher. One of them is well known, my 
gracious lord, 
A gross fat man. 

Car. As fat as butter. 560 

Prince. The man, I do assure you, is not 
here ; 
For I myself at tliis time have einploy'd him. 
And, sheriff, 1 will engaj^e my word to thee 
That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time. 
Send him to answer thee, or any man, 
For any thing he shall be charged withal : 
Aud so let me entreat you leave the house. 
Sher. I will, my lord. There are two gen- 
tlemen [marks. 
Have in this robbery lost three hundred 
Prince. It may be so : if he have robbVl 
these men, 570 
He shall be answerable ; and so farewell. 
Sher. Good night, my noble lord. 
Prince. I think it is good morrow, is it 

not? 
Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two 
o'clock. [Exeunt Sheriff and Carrier. 
Prince. This oily rascal is known as well as 
Panl's. Go, call him forth. 

Peto. Falstaff ! — Fast asleep behind the arras, 
and snorting like a horse. 

Prince. Hark, how hard he fetches breath. 
Search his pockets. [//; .nearcheth his pockets, 
and findeth certain papers.^ What hast thou 
found ? 
Peto. Nothing but papers, my lord. 
Prince. Let's see wliat they be: read them. 
. Peto. [Reads] Item, A capon, . . 2s. 2d. 
Item, Sauce, . , 4d. 

Item, Sack,two gallons, 5s. 8d. 
Item, Anchovies and sack 

after supper, . 2s. 6d. 
Item, Bread, . . ob. 

Prince. O monstrous ! but one half-penny- 
worth of bread to this intolerable deal of sack! 
What there is else, keep close ; we'll read it at 
more advantage : there let him sleep till day. 
I'll to the court in the morning. We must all 
to the wars, and thy place shall be honomble. 
I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of foot ; 
aud I know his death will be a march of 
twelve-score. The money shall be paid back 
again with advantage. Be with me betimes in 
the morning ; and so, good morrow, Peto. 601 

[Exeunt. 
Peto, Good morrow, good my lord. 



ACT HI. 
Scene I. Banrjor. The Archdeacon's house. 
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Mortimer, and 

Gl^NDOWBB. 



Mort. These promises are fair, the parties 

sure, 
And our induction full of prosperous hope. 
Hot. Lord Mortimer, and cousin Glen- 
dower, 
Will you sit down ? 

And uncle Worcester : a plague upon it ! 
I have forgot the map. 

Glend. No, here it is. 

Sit, cousin Percy ; sit, good cousin Hot.spur, 
For by that name as oft as Lancaster 
Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale and 

with 
A rising sigli he wisheth you in heaven. 10 
Hot. And you in hell, as oft as he hears 
Owen Glendower spoke of. 

Glend. I cannot blame him: at my nativity 
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes. 
Of burning cressets ; aud at my birth 
The frame and huge foundation of the earth 
Shaked like a coward. 

Hot. Why, so it would have done at the 
same season, if your mother's cat had but kit- 
tened, though yourself had ne\er been born. 
Glend. I say the earth did shake when I 

was born. 21 

Hot. And I say the earth was not of my 

mind. 
If you suppose as fearing you it shook. 

Glend. The heavens were all on fire, the 

earth did tremble. 
Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the 

heavens on fire. 
And not in fear of your nativity. 
Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth 
In strange eruptions ; oft the teeming earth 
Is with a kind of colic piuch'd and vex'd 
By the imprisoning of unruly wind 30 

Within her womb ; wliich, for enlargement 

striving. 
Shakes the old beldam earth and topples 

down 
Steeples and moss-grown towers. At your 

birth 
Our grandam earth, having this distempera- 

ture, 
In passion shook. 

Glend. Cousin, of many men 

I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave 
To tell you once again that at my birth 
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes. 
The goats ran from the mountaiiiB, and the 

herds 
Were strangely clamorous to the frighted 

fields. 40 

These signs have mark'd me extraordinary ; 
And all the courses of my life do .show 
I am not in the roll of common men. 
Where is he living, clipp'd in with the sea 
That chides the banks of England, Scotland, 

Wales, 
Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me ? 
And bi'ing him out that is but woman's sou 
Can trace me in the tedious way.s of art 
And hold me pace in djeep experiments. 
Bot. I think there's uo man speaks better 



Scene i.] 



KING HENRY IV. PART I. 



399 



Welsh. I'll to dinner. 50 

Mort. Peace, cousin Percy ; you will make 

him mad. 
Gland. I can call spirits from the vasty 

deep. 
H(\t. Why, so can I, or so can any man ; 
But will they come when you do call for 
them ? 
Glend. Why, I can teach you, cousin, to 
command 
The devil. 
Hot, And I can teach thee, coz, to shame 
the devil 
By telling truth : tell truth and shame the 

devil 
If thou have power to raise him, bring him 
hith3r, 60 

And I'll be sworn I have power to shame him 

hence. 
O, while you live, tell truth and shame the 
devil ! 
Mort. Come, come, no more of this unprofit- 
able chat. 
Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke 
made head 
Against my power ; thrice from the banks of 

Wye 
And sandy-bottom'd Severn have I sent him 
Bootless home and weather-beaten back. 
Hot. Home without boots, and in foul 
weather too ! 
How 'scapes he agues, in the devil's name ? 
Glend. Come, here's the map : shall we di- 
vide our right 70 
AtTording to our threefold order ta'en ? 
Mort. The archdeacon hath divided it 
Into three limits very equally : 
England, from Trent and Severn hitherto, 
By .south and east is to my part assign'd : 
All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore, 
And all the fertile land within that bound. 
To Owen Glendower: and, dear coz, to you 
The remnant northward, lying off from Trent. 
And our indentures tripartite are drawn; 80 
Which beinfr sealed interchanfreably, 
A business that this nig-ht may execute. 
To-morrow, cousin Percy, you and I 
And my good Lord of Worcester will set forth 
To meet your father and the Scottish power. 
As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury. 
My father Glendower is not ready yet, 
Nor shall we need his help these fourteen 

days. 
Within that space you may have drawn to- 
gether 
Your tenants, friends and neighboring gentle- 
men. 90 
Glend. A shorter time shall send me to you, 
lords: 
And in my conduct shall your ladies come; 
From whom you now must steal and take no 

leave. 
For there will be a world of water shed 
Cpon the parting of your wives and you. 
Hot. Methinks my moietv, north from Bur- 
ton here, 



In quantity equals not one of yours : 

See how this river comes me cranking in, 

And cuts me from the best of all my land 

A huge half-moon, amonstrou.s cantleout. 100 

I'll have the current in this place danim'd up; 

And here the smug and silver Trent shall run 

In a new channel, fair and evenly ; 

It shall not wind with such a deep indent. 

To rob me of so rich a bottom here. 

Glend. Not wind ? it shall, it must ; you 

see it doth. 
Mort. Yea, but 
Mark how he bears his course, and runs me 

up 
With like advantage on the other side ; 
Gelding the opposed continent as much . 110 
As on the other side it takes from you. 

Wor. Yea, but a little charge will trench 
him here 
And on this north side win this cape of land ; 
And then he runs straight and even. 
Hot. I'll have it so : a little charge will do 

it. 
Glend. I'll not have it alter'd. 
Hot. Will not you? 

Glend. No, nor you shall not. 
Hot. Who shall say me naj- ? 

Glend. Why, that will I. 
Hot. Let me not understand you, then ; 
sjieak it in Welsh. 120 

Glend. I can speak English, lord, as well as 
you ; 
For I was train'd up in the English court ; 
Where, being but young, I framed to the harp 
Many an English ditty lovely well 
And gave the tongue a helpful ornament, 
A virtue that was never seen in you. 

Hot. Marry, 
And I am glad of it with all my heart : 
I had rather be a kitten and cry mew 
Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers; 
I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd, 131 
Or a dry wheel grate on the axle-tree ; 
And that would set my teeth nothing on edge. 
Nothing so much as mincing poetry : 
'Tis like the forced gait of a shuffling nag. 
Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd. 
Hot- I do not care : I'll give thrice so much 
land 
To any well-deserving friend ; 
But in the way of bargiiin, mark ye me, 
I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair. 140 

Are the indentures drawn ? shall we be gone? 
Glend. The moon shines fair ; you may 
away by night : 
I'll haste the writer and withal 
Break with your wives of your departure 

hence : 
I am afraid my daughter will run mad. 
So much she doteth on her Mortimer. [Exit. 
Mort. Fie, cousin Percy ! how you cross my 

father ! 
Hot. I cannot choose : sometime he angers 
me 
With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant, 
Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies, 15(1 



400 



KING HENRY IV. PART I. 



[Act hi. 



And of a dragon and a finless fish, 

A clip-wing'd griffin and a moulten raven, 

A ocucliing lion and a ramping cat, 

And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff 

As puts me fro.n my faith. I tell you what ; 

He held me last night at least ninehours 

In reckoning up the several devils' names 

That were his lackeys •. I cried ' hum,' and 

' well, go to,' 
But mark'd him not a word. 0, he is as tedi- 
ous 
As a tired horse, a railing wife ; 160 

Worse than a smoky house : I had rather live 
With cheese and garlic in a windmill, far, 
Than feed on cates and have him talk to me 
In any sumraer-liouse in Christendom. 

Mort. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman, 
Exceedingly well read, and profited 
In strange concealments, valiant as a lion 
And wondrous affable and as bountiful 
As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin ? 
He holds your temper in a high respect 170 
And curbs himself even of his natural scope 
When you come 'cross his humor ; faith, he 

does : 
I warrant you, that man is not alive 
Might .so have tempted him as you have done, 
Without the taste of danger and reproof : 
But do not use it oft, let me entreat you. 
Wor. In faith, my lord, you are too wilful- 
blame ; 
And since your coming hither have done 

enough 
To put him quite beside his patience. 
You must needs learn, lord, to amend this 
fault : 180 

Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, 

blood, — 
And that's the dearest grace it renders you, — 
Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage, 
Defect of manners, want of government, 
Pride, haughtiness, opinion and disdain : 
The least of which haunting a nobleman 
Loseth men's hearts and leaves behind a stain 
Upon the beauty of all parts besides, 
Beguiling them of commendation. 
Hot. Well, I am school'd : good manners 
be your speed ! 190 

Here come our wives, and let us take our 
leave. 

Re-enter Glendower with tfie ladies. 

Mort. This is the deadly spite that angers 
me ; 
My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh. 
Glend. My daughter weeps : she will not 
part with you ; 
She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars. 
Mort Good father, tell her that she and my 
aunt Percy 
Shall follow in your conduct speedily. 

\_Glendoiver speaks to her in Welsh, and she 

answers him in the same. 

Glend. She is desperate here ; a peevish 

self-will'd harlotry, one that no persuasion can 

do good upon. [The lady speaks in Welsh. 



Mort. I understand thy looks : that pre! Iv 

Welsh -201 

Which thou pour'st down from these swelling 

heavens 
I am too perfect in ; and, but for shame. 
In such a parley sliould I answer thee. 

[The ladij speaks again in Welsh 
I understand ttiy kisses and thou mine, 
And that's a feeling disputation : 
But I will never be a truant, love. 
Till I have learned thy language ; for thy 

tongue 
Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd, 
Sang by a fair queen in a summer's bower, 210 
With ravishing division, to her lute. 

Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run 
mad. [The lady speaks ar/ain in Welsh. 

Mort. 0, I am ignorance itself in this ! 

Glend. She bids you on the wanton rushes 
lay you down 
And rest your gentle head npon her lap. 
And she will sing the song that pleaseth you 
And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep. 
Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness, 
Making such difference 'twi.\t wake and sleep 
As is the difference betwixt day and night 220 
The hour before the heavenly-harness'd team 
Begins his golden progress in the east. 

Mort. With all my heart I'll sit and hear 
her sing : 
By that time will our book, I think, be drawn. 

Glend. Do so ; 
And those musicians that shall play to you 
Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence. 
And straight they shall be here : sit, and at- 
tend. 

Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying 
down : come, quick, quick, that I may lay my 
head in thy lap. 231 

Ladi/ P. Go, ye giddy goose. 

[The music jilays. 

Hot. Now I perceive the devil understands 
Welsh ; 
And 'tis no marvel he is so humorous. 
By'r lady, he is a good musician. 

Lady P. Then should you be nothing but 
musical for you are altogether governed by 
humors. Lie still, ye thief, and hear the lady 
sing in Welsh. 

Flot. I had rather hear Lady, my brach, 
howl in Irish. 241 

Lady P. Wouldst thou have thy head 
broken ? 

Hot. No. 

Lady P. Then be stUl. 

Hot. Neither ; 'tis a woman's fault. 

Lady P. Now God help thee .' 

Hot. To the Welsh lady's bed 

Lady P. What's that ? 

Hot. Peace ! she sings. 

[Here the lady sings a Welsh son^ , 

Hot. Come, Kate, I'll have your song too." 

Ijttdy P. Not mine, in good sooth. 251 

Hot. Not yours, in good sooth ! Heart ! 
you swear like a comfit-maker's wife. ' Not 
you, in good sooth,' and ' as true as I live,' and 



fecENE II.] 



KING HENRY IV. PART I. 



401 



'as God shall mend me.' and 'as sure as day,* 
And givest such sarcenet surety for thy oaths, 
As if thou never walk'st further than Fins- 

l)ury. 
Swear mo, KaLc, lilic a lady as thou art, 
A .i^ood nioiitli-lilliai; oath, and leave ' in sooth,' 
And such i)rotest of i)e[)[(er-gingerbread, 2(J0 
To velvet-guards aud .Sunday-citizeus. 
Come, sing. 

iMdij P. I will not sing. 

Hot. 'Tis the ue.vt way to turn tailor, or 
be red-breast teacher. An the indentures be 
drawn, I'll away withm tliese two hours ; and 
so, come in when ye will. [Exit. 

Glcnd. Come, come. Lord Mortimer ; you 
are as slow 
As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go. 
By tliis our book is drawn ; we'll but seal, 270 
And then to horse immeaiately. 

Mi>n. With all my heart. [Exeunt. 

Scene IL London. The palace. 
Enter the King, Prince of Walks, and others. 

Kimj. Lords, give us leave ; the Prince of 
Wales and 1 
Must have some private conference : but be 

near at hand. 
For we shall presently have need of you. 

[Exeunt Lords. 
1 know not whether God will have it so. 
For some displeasing service I have done, 
Tlial, in his secret doom, out of my blood 
He'll breed revengementand a scourge for me; 
Put thou dost in thy passages of life 
Make mo believe that thou art only mark'd 
For the hot vengeance and the I'od of lieaven 
To punish my mistreadiugs. Tell me else, 11 
Could such inordinate and low desires. 
Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean 

attempts. 
Such barren pleasures, rude society, 
As thou art match'd withal and grafted to, 
Accomiiany the greatness of thy blood 
And hold tlieir level with thy princely heart ? 

Prince. So please your majesty, I would I 
could 
Quit all offences with as clear excuse 
As well as I am doubtless I can purge 20 

Myself of many I am charged withal : 
Yet such extenuation let me beg. 
As, in reproof of many tales devised. 
Which oft the ear of greatness needs must 

hear, 
liy smiling pick-thanks aud base newsmongers; 
I may, for some things true, wherein my youth 
Hath faulty wander' d and irregular. 
Find pardon on my true submission. 

Khiy. God pardon thee ! yet let me won- 
der, Harry, 
A t thy affections, which do hold a wing 30 
<^uitc from the flight of all thy ancestors. 
Tliy jilace in council tliou liast rudely lost, 
AVhich by thy younger brother is supplied, 
A.id art almost an alien to the hearts 
Uf all the court aud princes of my blood : 



The hope and expectation of thy time 

Is ruin'd, aud the soul of every man 

Prophetically doth forethink thy fall. 

Had I so lavish of my presence been. 

So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men, 40 

So stjile aud cheap to vulgar company. 

Opinion, that did help me to the crown, 

Had still kept loyal to possession 

And left me in reputeless banishment, 

A fellow of no mark nor likelihood. 

By being seldom seen, I could not stir 

But like a comet I was wonder' d at ; 

That men would tell their children ' This is hef 

Others would say 'Where, which is Boling- 

broke ? ' 
And then I stole all courtesy from heaven, 50 
And dress'd myself in such humility 
That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts, 
Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths. 
Even in the presence of the crowned king. 
Thus did I keep my person fresh and new ; 
My presence, like a robe pontifical, 
Ne'er seen but wonder' d at : and so my state, 
Seldom but sumptuous, showed like a feasl; 
And won by rareness such .solemnity. 
The skipping king, he ambled up and down 60 
With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits, 
Soon kindled and soon burnt; carded his state. 
Mingled his royalty with capering fools, 
Had his great name profaned -with their scorns 
And gave his countenance, against his name. 
To laugh at gibing boys and stand the push 
Of every beardless vain comparative, 
Grew a companion to the common streets, 
Enfeoff 'd himself to popularity; 
That, being daily svvallow'd by men's eyes, 70 
They surfeited with honey and began 
To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a 

little 
More than a little is by much too much. 
So when he had occasion to be seen. 
He was but as the cuckoo is in June, 
Heard, not regarded ; seen, but with such eyes 
As, sick and blunted with community, 
Afford no extraordinary gaze. 
Such as is bent on sun-like majesty 
When it shines seldom in admiring eyes ; 80 
But rather drowzed and hung their eyelids 

down. 
Slept in his face and render'd such aspect 
As cloudy men use to their adversaries, 
Being with his presence glutted, gorged and 

full. 
And in that very line, Harry, standest thou ; 
For thou hast lost thy ])rincely privilege 
With vile participation : not an eye 
But is a-weary of thy common sight. 
Save mine, which hath desired to see thee 

more; 
Which now doth that I would not have it do, 
Make blind itself with foolish tenderness. 91 
Prince. I shall hereafter, my thrice gra- 
cious lord. 
Be more myself. 

King. For all the world 

As thou art to this hour was Richard then 

26 



102 



KING HENRY IV. PART I. 



[Act hi. 



When I from France set foot at Ravenspurgh, 
And even as I was then is Percy now. 
Now, by my sceptre and my soul to boot, 
He hath more worthy interest to the state 
Than tliou the shadow of succession ; 
For of no right, nor color like to right, 100 
He doth fill "fields with harness in the realm, 
Turns head against the lion's armed jaws, 
And, being no more in debt to years than thou, 
Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on 
To bloody battles and to bruising arms. 
What never-dying honor hath he got 
Against renowned Douglas ! whose high deeds. 
Whose hot incursions and great name in arms 
Holds from all soldiers chief majority 
And military title capital 110 

Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge 

Christ : 
Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swathling 

clothes. 
This infant warrior, in his enterprizes 
Discomfited great Douglas, ta'en him once. 
Enlarged him and made a friend of him, 
To fill the mouth of deep defiance up 
And shake the peace and safety of our throne. 
And what say you to this ? Percy, Northuraber-^ 

laud. 
The Archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Mor- 
timer, 
Capitulate against us and are up. 120 

But wherefore do I tell these news to thee ? 
Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes, 
Which art my near'st and dearest enemy ? 
Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear, 
Base inclination and the start of spleen, 
To fight against me under Percy's pay, 
To dog his heels and curtsy at his frowns, 
To show how much thou art degenerate. 
Prince. Do not think so ; you shall not find 
it so : 
And God forgive them that so much have 
sway'd 130 

Your majesty's good thoughts away from me! 
I will redeem all this on Percy's head 
And in the closing of some glorious day 
Be bold to tell you that I am your son ; 
When I will wear a garment all of blood 
And stain my favors in a bloody mask, 
Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame 

with it : 
And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights. 
That this same child of honor and renown. 
This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight, 
And your uuthought-of Harry chance to meet. 
For every honor sitting on his helm, 
Would they were multitudes, and on my head 
My shames redoubled ! for the time will come. 
That I shall make this northern youth ex- 
change 
His glorious deeds for my indignities. 
Percy is but my factor, good my lord. 
To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf ; 
And I will call him to so strict account. 
That he shall render every glory up, 150 

Yea, even the slightest worship of his time, 
Or I will tear the reckoning from Uia iieart. 



This, in the name of God, I promise here : 
The which if He be pleased I shall perform, 
I do beseech your majesty may salve 
The long-grown wounds of my intemperance: 
If not, the end of life cancels all bands ; 
And I will die a hundred thousand deaths 
Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow. 
Kiay. A hundred thousand rebels die in 

this : 160 

Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust 

herein. 

Enter Blunt. 

How now, good Blunt ? thy looks are full of 

speed. 
Blunt. So hath the business that I come to 

speak of. 
Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word 
That Douglas and the English rebels met 
The eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury; 
A mighty and a fearful head they are, 
If promises be kept on every hand, 
As ever offer'd foul play in u state. 
Kinfj. The Earl of Westmoreland set forth 

to-day; 170 

With him my son. Lord John of Lancaster; 
For this advertisement is five days old : 
On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set for» 

ward; 
On Thursday we ourselves will march: our 

mef'ting 
Is Bridgenorth: and, Harry, you shall march 
Through Gloucestershire; by which account. 
Our business valued, some twelve days hence 
Our general forces at Bridgenorth shall meet. 
Our hands are full of business: let's away; 
Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay. 180 

{.Exeunt. 



Scene HI, 



Eastcheap. 
Tavern. 



The Boar's-Head 



Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. 

Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely 
since this last action ? do I not bate ? do 1 not 
dwindle ? Why, my .skin hangs about me like 
an old lady's loose gown ; I am withered lijce 
an old apple-john. Well, I'll repent, and that 
suddenly, while I am in some liking ; I shall 
be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have 
no strength to repent. An I have not forgotten 
what the inside of a church is made of, I am a 
peppercorn, a brewer's horse : the inside of a 
church ! Company, villauous company, hath 
been the spoil of me. 

Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you 
cannot live long. 

Fal. Why, there is it : come sing me a 
bawdy song ; make me merry. I was as vir- 
tuously given as a gentleman need to be ; vir- 
tuous enough ; swore little ; diced not above 
seven times a week ; went to a bawdy-house 
not above once ia a, quarter — of an hour ; paid 
money that I borrowed, three or four times ; 
lived well and in good compass : and now Iliye 
out of all order, out of all compasg, 



Scene hi] 



KING HENRY IV. PART I. 



403 



Bard. Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that 
you must needs be out of all compass, out of 
all reasonable compass, Sir .lohn. 

Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and 1*11 amend 
my life : thou art our admiral, thou bearest 
the lantern in the poop, but 'tis in the nose of 
thee ; thou art the Knight of the Burning 
Lamii. ^50 

Bard. Why, Sir John, my face does you no 
harm. 

Fal. No, I'll be sworn ; I make as good 
use of it as many a man doth of a Death's- 
head or a memento mori : I never see thy face 
but 1 think upon hell-fire and Dives that lived 
in purple ; for there he is in his robes, burn- 
ing, burning. If thou wert any way given to 
virtue, I would swear by thy face ; my oath 
should be ' By this fire, that's God's angel : ' 
but thou art altogether given over ; and wert 
indeed, but for tlie light in thy face, the son of 
utter darkness. When thou rannest up Gads- 
hill in the night to catch my horse, if I did not 
tliink thou hadst been an ignis fatuus or a ball 
of wildfire, there's no purchase in money. O, 
thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting 
bonfi re-light ! Thou hast saved me a thou.sand 
marks in links and torches, walking with thee 
in the night betwixt tavern and tavern : but 
the sack that thou hast drunk me would have 
bought me lights as good cheap at the dearest 
chandler's in Europe. I have maintained that 
salamander of yours with fire any time this 
two and tliirty years ; God reward me for it ! 

Bard. 'Sblo'od, I would my fa^e were in 
your belly ! 

F((l. (iod-a-mercy ! so should I be sure to 
be heart-burned. 

Enter Hostess. 

How now. Dame Partlet the hen ! have you 
inquired yet who picked my pocket ? fil 

IIoi<(. Why, Sir John, what do you think, 
Sir John ? do you think I keep tliieves in my 
house ? I have searched, I have inquired, so 
has my husband, man by man, boy by boy, 
servant by servant : the tithe of a hair was 
never lost in my house before. 

Fal. Ye lie, hostess : Bardolph was shaved 
and lost many a hair ; and I'll be sworn my 
pocket was picked. Go to, you are a woman, 

Host. Who, I ? no ; I defy thee : God's 
light, I was never called so in mine own house 
before. 

Fid. Go to, I know you well enough. 

Ilo.st. No, Sir John ; you do not know me, 
Sir John. I know you, Sir John : you owe me 
money, Sir John ; and now you pick a quarrel 
to beguile me of it : I bought you a dozen of 
shirts to your bacik. 

Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas : I have given 
them away to bakers' wives, and they have 
made bolters of them. 81 

Host. Now, as 1 am a true woman, holland 
of eight shillings an ell. You owe money here 
besides, Sir Joim, for your diet and by-driak- 



ings, and money lent you, four .and twenty 
pound. 

Fal. He had his part of it ; let him pay. 

Host. He ? alas, he is poor ; he hath 
nothing. 

Fal. How ! poor ? look upon his face ; 
what call you rich ? let them coin his nose, let 
them coin his cheeks : I'll not pay a denier. 
What, will you make a younker of me ? shall 
I not take mine ease in mine inn but I shall 
have my ])ocket jiicked ? I have lost a seal- 
ring of my grandfather's worth forty mark. 

Host. O Jesu, I have heard the prince tell 
liim, I know not how oft, that that ring was 
copjier ! 

Fal. IIow ! the i)rince is a Jack, a sneak- 
cuj) : 'sblood, an he were here, I would cudgel 
him like a dog, if he would say so. 101 

Enter the Prince and Peto, marchhif/, and 
F.^LSTAFF vieets them playing on his trun- 
cheon like ajife. 

How now, lad ! is the wind in that door, i' 
faith ? must we all march ? 

Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion. 

Hotit. Mylord, I pray you, hear me. 

Prim-e. What sayest thou. Mistress Quick- 
ly ? How doth thy husband ? I love him 
well ; he is an hone.st man. 

IIo.-<t. Good my lord, hear me. 

Fal. Prithee, let her alone, and list to me. 

Prince. What sayest thou. Jack ? Ill 

Fal. The other night I fell asleei> here be- 
hind the arras and had my pocket picked : this 
house is turned bawdy-house ; they pick 
pockets. 

Prince. What didst thou lose. Jack ? 

Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal ? three or 
four bonds of forty jwund a-piece, and a seal- 
ring of my grand fatlier'.s. 

Prince. A trifie, .some eight-penny matter. 

II<>.<<t. So I told him, my lord ; and I said I 
heard your grace say so : and, my lord, he 
speaks most vilely of you, like a foul-mouthed 
man ;is he is ; and said he would cudgel you. 

Prince. What ! he did not ? 

Ilu.st. There's neither faith, truth, nor 
womanhood in me else. 

Fal. There's no more faith in thee than in 
a stewed prune ; nor no more truth in thee 
than in a drawn fox ; and for womanhood. 
Maid Marian may be the deputy's wife of the 
ward to thee. Go, vou thing, go. i;Jl 

Host. Say, what thing ? what thing ? 

Fal. What thing ! why, a thing to thank 
God on. 

Host. I am no thing to thank God on, I 
would thou shouldst know it ; I am an honest 
man's wife : and, setting thy knighthood aside, 
thou art a knave to call me so. 

Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou 
art a beast to say otherwise. 140 

HoKt. Say, what beast, thou knave, tliou ? 

Fal. What bea.st ! why, an otter. 

Prime, Att otter, Sir John ! why an otter? 



404 



KING HENRY IV. PARTI. 



%kot iy 



FaL Why, she's neither fish nor flesh ; a 
man knows not where to have her. 

Host. Thon art an unjust man in saying so : 
tlioii or any man knows where to have me, 
thou knave, thou ! 

Prince. Thou sayest true, hostess ; and he 
sl:iuders thee most grossly. 150 

Host. So he doth you, my lord ; and said 
this other day you ought him a thousand 
pound. 

Frince. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand 
pound ? 

Fal. A thousand pound, Hal ! a million : 
tliy love is worth a million : thou owest me 
thy love. 

Host. Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, 
and said he would cudgel you. 

FaL Did I, Bardolph ? 160 

Bard. Indeed, Sh* John, you said so. 

FaL Yea, if he said my ring was copper. 

Prince. I say 'tis copper : darest thou be 
as good as thy word now ? 

FaL Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art 
but man, I dare : but as thou art prince, I fear 
thee as 1 fear the roaring of the lion's whelp. 

Prince. And why not as the lion ? 

FaL The king himself is to be feared as the 
lion : dost thou think I'll tear thee as I fear 
thy father ? nay, an I do, I pray Cod my girdle 
break. 

Prince. O, if it should, how would thy guts 
fall about thy knees ! But, sirrah, there's no 
room for faith, truth, nor honesty in this 
bosom ©f thine ; it is all filled up with guts and 
midriff. Charge an honest woman with pick- 
ing thy pocket ! why, thou whoreson, impu- 
dent, embossed rascal, if there were anything 
in tliy pocket but tavern-reckonings, memo- 
randums of bawdy-houses, and one poor 
pemiy-worth of sugar-candy to make thee 
long-winded, if thy pocket were enriched with 
any other injuries but these, I am a villain : 
and yet you will stand to it ; you will not 
pocket up wrong: art thou not ashamed ? 

FaL Dost thou hear, Hal ? thou knowest 
in the state of innocency Adam fell; and what 
should poor Jack Falstaff do in the days of 
vil-lany ? Tliou seest I have more flesh than 
another man, and therefore more frailty. You 
confess then, you jucked my pocket? 190 

Prince. It appears so by the story. 

FaL Hostess, I forgive thee : go, make 
ready breakfast ; love thy husband, look to 
thy servants, cherish thy guests : thou shalt 
find me tractable to any honest reason : thou 
seest I am pacified still. Nay, prithee, be 
gone. [Exit Hostess.] Now, Hal, to the news 
at court : for the robbery, lad, how is that 
answered ? 

Prince. 0, my sweet beef, I must still be 
good angel to thee : the money is paid back 
again. 200 

FaL O, I do not like that paying back ; 'tis 
a double labor. 

Prince. I ^.m good frieada with my father 
81^ sm-y io say tluag* 



FaL Rob me the exchequer the first thing 
thou doest, and ao it with unwashed basdb 
too. 

Bard. Do, my lord. 

Prince. I have procured thee, Jack, a. 
charge of foot. 20S 

FaL I would it had been of horse. Where 
shall I find one that can steal well ? O for a 
fine thief, of the age of two and twenty or 
thereabouts ! I am heinously unprovided. 
Well, God be thanked for these rebels, they 
offend none but the virtuous : I laud them, I 
l)raise them. 

Prince. Bardolph ! 

Bard. My lord ? 

Prince. Go bear this letter to Lord John of 
Lancaster, to my brother John ; this to my 
Lord of Westmoreland. [Exit Bardolph.] Go, 
Peto, to horse, to horse ; for thou and I have 
thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time. [Exit 
Peto.] Jack, meet me to-morrow in the temple 
hall at two o'clock in the afternoon. 
There shalt thou know thy charge ; and there 

receive 
Money and order for their furniture. 
The land is burning ; Percy stands on high •, 
And either we or they must lower lie. [Exit. 

FaL Rare words ! brave world ! Hostess, 

my breakfast, come ! 229 

O, I could wish this tavern were my drum ! 

[ExiU 



ACT IV. 



Scene I. TJie rebel camp near Shreivsbttry. 
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, and Douglas. 

Hot. Well said, my noble Scot : if speaking 
truth 
In this fine age were not thought flattery, 
Such attribution should the Douglas have, 
As not a soldier of this season's stamp 
Should go so general current through the 

world. 
By God, I cannot flatter ; I do defy 
The tongues of soothers ; but a braver place 
In my heart's love hath no man than yourself: 
Nay, task me to my word ; approve me, lord. 
Doug. Thou art the king of honor : 10 

No man so potent breathes upon the ground 
But I will beard him. 
Hot. Do so, and 'tis well. 

Enter a Messenger with letters. 
What letters hast thou there ? — I can but thank 
you. 
Mess. These letters come from your father. 
Hot. Letters from him ! why comes he not 

himself ? 
Mess. He cannot come, my lord ; he is 

grievous sick. 
Hot. 'Zounds ! how has he the leisure to be 
sick 
In such a justling time ? Wh© leads his power? 
UjMle): whose govemmeot ofMte they along? 



emiTG I.] 



HENRY IV. PARTI. 



406 



Mess. His letters bear his mind, not I, my 

lord. 20 

Wor. I prithee, tell me, doth he keep his 

bed? 
Mess. He did, my lord, four days ere I set 

forth ; 
And at the time of my departure thence 
He was much fear'd by his pliysioiaii-s. 

Wor. I would the state of time liad first 

been whole 
Ere lie by sickness had been visited : 
His health was never better worth than now. 
Hot. Sick now ! droop now ! this sickness 

doth infect 
The very life-blood of our enterprise ; 
'Tis catching hither, even to our camp. 30 

tHe writes me here, that inward sickness — 
And that his friends by deputation could not 
So soon be drawn, nor did he think it meet 
To lay so dangerous and dear a trust 
On any soul removed but on his own. 
Yet doth he give us bold advertisement. 
That with our small conjunction we should on. 
To see liow fortune is disposed to us ; 
For, as lie writes, there is no (|n;iiliug now, 
Uceaiise the king is certainly posscss'd 40 

Of all our purposes. AVhat say you to it ? 
Wor. Your father's sickness is a maim to 

us. 
Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd 

off : 
And yet, in faith, it is not ; his present want 
Seems more than we shall iind it : were it 

good 
To set tlie exact wealth of all our states 
All at one cast? to set so rich a main 
On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour ? 
It were not good ; ffor therein should we read 
Tlie very bottom and the soul of hope, 50 

The very list, the very uiiiiost bound 
Of all our fortunes 

Jloiii/. 'Faith, and po ive sliould ; 

Where now remains a sweet reversion : 
tWe may boldly spend upon the liopeof what 
is to come in : 
A comfort of retirement lives in this. 

Hot. A rendezvous, a home to My unto, 
if that the devil and mischance look big 
Upon the maidenhead of our affairs. 

Wor. But yet I would your father had been 

here. (jO 

The quality and liair of our attempt 
Brooks no division : it will be thought 
By some, that know not why he is away, 
That wisdom, loyalty and mere dislike 
01' our proceedings kept the earl from hence : 
And think how such an apprehension 
May turn the tide of fearful faction 
And breed a kind of question in our cause ; 
For well you know we of tlie offering side 
Must keep aloof from strict arbitrenient, 70 
And sto(> all sight-holes, every loop from 

whence 
The eye of reason may pry in upon ns: 
Thi-i absence of your father's draws a curtain, 
that ahowa the iguoxaut a kind oi ieax 



Before not dreamt of. 

Hot. Ton strain too far. 

I rather of his absence make this use : 
It lends a lustre and more great opinion, 
A larger dare to our great enterprise. 
Than if the earl were liere ; for men must think 
If we without his help can make a head 80 
To push against a kingdom, with his help 
We shall o'erturn it topsy-turvy down. 
Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole. 

Doug. As heart can think : there is not such 
a word 
Spoke of in Scotland as this term of fear. 

Enter Sib Richahd Vernon. 

Hot. My cousin Vernon, welcome, by my 

soul. 
Ver. Praj' God ray news be worth a wel- 
come, lord. 
The Earl of "Westmoreland, seven thousand 

strong, 
Is marching hitherwards ; with him Prince 

John. 
Hot. No liarm : what more ? 
Per. And further, I have learn'd, 90 

The king himself in person is set forth, 
Or hitherwards intended speedily. 
With strong and mighty i)repaiation. 
Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is 

his son. 
The nimble-footed madcap Prince of Wales, 
And his comrades, that dali'd the world asido, 
And bid it pass ? 

Ver. All furnish 'd, all in arms ; 

1A11 plumed like estridges that with the wind 
Baited like eagles having lately bathed ; 
Glittering in golden coats, liiveimages ; 100 
As full of spirit &^ the month of May, 
And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer ; 
Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bubs. 
I saw young Harry, with his beaver on, 
His euisses on his thighs gallantly arm'd, 
Kise from the ground like featlier'd Mercury, 
And vaulted with such ease into his seat, 
As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds. 
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus 
And witch the world with uotilehorsoinanship. 
Hot. No more, no more : worse than the sun 

in March, 111 

This praise doth uonrisli agues. Let theui 

come ; 
Tliey come like sacrifices in their trim, 
All'', io the fire-eyed maid of smoU y war 
All hot and bleeding will we offer them 
Tlie mailed Mars shall on his altar sit 
Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire 
To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh 
And yet not ours. Come, let me taste my 

horse. 
Who is to bear me like a tliunderbolt 120 

Against the bosom of the Piiiic'c of Wales : 
Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse. 
Meet and ne'er jiart till one drop down a corse. 

that (jlendower were come ! 

Vvr. There is more news : 

1 learu'd iu Worcester, as I rode along, 



406 



KING HENRY TV. PART L 



[Act TV, 



He cannot draw his power this fourteen days. 
Doxi/. That's tlie worst tidings tliat I hear 

of yet. 
Woi'. Ay, by ray faith, that bears a frosty 

sonnd. 
Hot. Wliat may the king's wliole battle 

reach tin to ? 
Ver. To tliirty tliousand. 
Hot. Forty let it be : ir>0 

My father and Glendower being both away. 
The powers of us may serve so great a day. 
Coiue, let us take a muster speedily : 
Uoom.sday is near ; die all, die merrily. 

Dong. Talk not of dying : I am out of fear 

Of death or death's hand for this one-half 

year. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. A public road near Coventry. 
Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. 

Fal. Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; 
fill me a bottle of sack : our soldiers shall 
uuirch through ; \ve'll to Sutton Co'fir to- 
night. 

Bard. Will you give me money, captain ? 

Fal. Lay out, lay out. 

Bard. This bottle makes an angel. 

Fal. An if it do, take it for thy labor ; and 
if it make twenty, take thfem all ; I'll answer 
the coinage. Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me 
at town's end. 10 

Bard. I will, captain : fareweU. [Exit. 

Fal. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I 
am a soused gurnet. I have misuse'd the king's 
press damnably. I have got, in exchange of a 
hundred and fifty soldiers, three hundred and 
odd pounds. I press me none but good house- 
holders, yeoman's sons ; inquire me out con- 
tracted bachelors, such as had been. asked 
twice on the banns ; such a commodity of warm 
slaves, as had as lie ve hear the devil as a drum ; 
such as fear the report of n; caliver worse than 
a struck fowl or a hurt wild-duck. I pressed 
me none but such toasts-and-butter, with 
hearts in their bellies no bigger than plus' 
heads, and they have bought out their ser- 
vices ; and now my whole charge consists of 
ancients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of 
companies, slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the 
painted cloth, where the glutton's dogs licked 
his sores ; and such as indeed were never sol- 
diers, but discarded nnjust serving-men, 
younger sous to younger brothers, revolted 
t.i|»sters and ostlers trade-fallen, the cankers 
of a calm world and a long peace, ten times 
more dishonorable ragged than an old faced 
ancient : and such have I. to fill up the rooms 
of them that have bought out their services, 
that you would think that I had a hundred 
and fifty tattered prodigals latelv come from 
swine-keeping, from eating draff and husks. 
A mad fellow met me on the wav and told me 
I had unloaded all the gibbets aiid pressed the 
dead bodies. No eye hath seen such scare- 
crows. I'll not march through Coventry with 
them, that's flat : nay, and the villains march 



wide betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves on; 
for indeed I had the most of them out of pris- 
on. There's but a shirt and a half in all my 
company ; and the half shirt is two nai)kins 
tacked together and thrown over the shoulders 
like an herald's coat without sleeves ; and the 
shirt, to say the truth, stolen from my host at 
Saint Alban's, or the red-no5e innkeeper of 
Daveutry. But that's all one ; they'll find 
linen enough on every hedge. 

Enter the Pbinck and Westmoreland. 

Prince. How now, blown Jack ! how now, 
quilt ! 

Fal. What, Hal .' how now, mad wag 1 
what a devil dost thou in Warwickshire ? My 
good Lord of Westmoreland, I cry you mercy': 
1 thought your honor had ah'eady been at 
Shrewsbury. 59 

West. Faith, Sir John, 'tis more than time 
that I were there, and you too ; but my jjowers 
are there already. The king, 1 can tell you 
looks for us all : we must away all night.' 

Fal. Tut, never fear me : I am as vigilan*^ 
as a cat to steal cream. 

Prince. I think, to steal cream indeed, fo/ 
thy theft hath already made thee butter. But 
tell me. Jack, w'hose fellows are these that 
come after ? 

Fal. Mine, Hal, mine. G!t 

Prince. I did never see such pitiful i-ascais. 

Fal. Tut, tut ; good enough to toss ; food 
for powder, food for powder ; they'll fill a pit 
as well as better : tush, man, mortal men, mor- 
tal men. 

West. Ay, but, Sir John, methinksthey are 
exceeding poor and bare, too beggarly. 

Fal. 'Faith, for their poverty, I know not 
where they had that ; and for their bareness, 
I am sure they never learned that of me. 

Prince. No, I'll be sworn ; unless you call 
three fingers on the ribs bare. But, sirrah, 
make haste : Percy is already in the field. 81 

Fal. What, is the king encamped ? 

West. He is, Sir John : I fear we shall staj 
too long. 

Fal. Well, 
To the latter end of a fray and the beginning 
of a feast 85 

Fits a dull fighter and a keen guest. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. The rebel camp near Sh-e^osburi/. 
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Douglas, and 
Vernon. 
Hot. We'll fight with him to-night. 
Wor. It may not be. 

Dowj. You give him then advantage. 
Ver. Not a wliit. 

Hot. Why say you so ? looks he not for 

supply ? 
Ver. So do we. 

Hot. His is certain, ours is dwibtful. 

Wor. Good cousin, be advised ; stir not to- 
night. 
Ver. Do not, my lord. 



Scene hi.] 



KING HENRY IV. PART L 



407 



Doug. You do not counsel well : 

You speak it out of fear and cold heart. 

Ver. Do me no slander, Douglas : by my 
life, 
And I dare well maintain it with my Ufe, 
If well-respected honor bid me on, 10 

1 hold as little counsel with weak fear 
As you, my lord, or any Scot that this day 

lives : 
Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle 
Which of us fears. 

Doug. Yea, or to-night. 

Ver. Content. 

Hot. To-night, say I. 

Ver. Come, come, it may not be. I wonder 
much, 
Being men of such great leading as you are, 
That you foresee not what impediments 
Drag back our expedition : certain horse 
Of my cousin A''ernon's are not yet come up : 
Your uncle Worcester's horse came but to- 
day; 21 
And now their pride and mettle is asleep. 
Their courage witli hard labor tame and dull. 
That not a horse is lialf the half of himself. 

Hot. So are the horses of the enemy 
In general, journey-bated and brought low : 
The better part of ours are full of rest. 

Wot. The number of the king exceedeth 
ours : 
For God's sake, consul, stay till all come in. 

[The trumpet sounds a parley. 

Enter Sir Walter Blunt. 

Blunt. 1 come with gracious ofifers from 

the king, 30 

If you vouchsafe me hearing and respect. 
Hot. Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt ; and 

would to God 
You were of our determination ! 
Some of us love you well ; and even those 

some 
Envy your great deservings and good name, 
Because you are not of our quality, 
But stand against us like an enemy. 
Blunt. And God defend but still I should 

stand so. 
So long as out of limit and true rule 
You stand against anointed majestj'. 40 

But to my charge. The king hath sent to know 
The nature of your griefs, and whereupon 
You conjure from the breast of civil peace 
Such bold hostility, teaching his duteous land 
Audacious cruelty. If that the king 
Have any way your good deserts forgot. 
Which he confesseth to be manifold. 
He bids you name your griefs ; and with all 

speed 
You shall have your desires with interest 
And pardon absolute for yourself and these 50 
Herein misled by your suggestion. 
Hot. Tlie king is kind ; and well we know 

the king 
Knows at what time to promise, when to pay. 
My father and my uncle and myself 
Did give him that same royalty he wears i,^. ■ 



And when he was not six and twe>ity strong, 
Sick in the world's regard, wretclied and low 
A poor unminded outlaw sneakiag home. 
My father gave liim welcome to the shore ; 
And when he heard him swear and vow toGoc 
He came but to be Duke of Lancaster, (il 

To sue liis livery and beg his peace. 
With tears of iiinocency and terms of zeal. 
My father, in liind heart and pity moved. 
Swore him assistance and perfoim'd it too. 
Now when tlie lords and barons of the realm 
Perceived Northumberland did le;iu to him, 
The more and less came in with cap and knee; 
Met him in boroughs, cities, vilhiges, 
Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes, 70 
Laid gifts before him, proffer'd him their oaths, 
Gave him their heirs, as pages follow'd him 
Even at the heels in golden multitudes. 
He presently, as greatness knows itself. 
Steps me a little liigher than his vow 
Made to my father, while his blood was poor, 
Upon the naked shore at Kavenspurgh ; 
And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform 
Some certain edicts and some strait decrees 
That lie too heavy on thecommonwealtli, 8C 
Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep 
Over his country's wrongs ; and by this face, 
This seeming brow of justice, did he win 
The hearts of all that he did angle for ; 
Proceeded further ; cut me off the heads 
Of all the favorites that the absent king 
In deputation left behind him liere. 
When he was personal in the Irish war. 

Blunt. Tut, I came not to hear this. 

Hot. Then to the point. 

In short time after, he deposed the khig ; 90 
Soon after that, deprived him of his life : 
And in the neck of that, task'd the whole stirte : 
To make that worse, suffer'd his kinsman 

March, 
Who is, if every owner were well placed, 
Indeed his king, to be engaged in Wales 
There without ransom to lie forfeited ; 
Disgraced me in my happy victories, 
Sought to entrap me by intelligence ; 
Rated mine uncle from the council-board : 
In rage dismiss'd my father from the court ; 
Broke oath on oath, committed wrong on 
wrong, 101 

And in conclusion drove us to seek out 
Tins head of safety ; and withal to pry 
Into his title, the which we find 
Too indirect for long continuance. 

Blunt. Shall I return this answer to tbe 
king? 

Hot. Not so. Sir Walter : we'll withdraw 
awhile. 
Go to the king ; and let there be impawn'd 
Some surety for a safe return again. 
And in tlie morning early shall my uncle 110 
Bring him our purposes : and so farewell. 

Blunt. I would you would accept of grace 
and love. 

Hot. And may be so we shall. 

Blunt. Pray God you do. 

[Eziiuni, 



408 



KING HENRY TV. PART I. 



{Act v. 



S'ceneIV. York. TTie Archbishop's ;jatoce. 

Jintei' the Archbishop of York and Sir 

Michael. 
Arch. Hie, good Sir Michael ; bear this 
sealed brief 
AVith wiuged haste to the lord marshal ; 
Tliis to mv cousin Scroop, aud all the rest 
To whom they are directed. If you knew 
How much they do import, you would make 
haste. 
Sir M. My good lord, 
I guess their tenor. 

Arch. Like enough you do. 

To-morrow, good Sir Michael, is a day 
Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men 
Must bide the touch ; for, sir, at Shrewsbury, 
As I am truly given to understand, 11 

The king with mighty and quick-raised power 
Meets with Lord Harry : and, I fear. Sir 

Michael, 
What with the sickness of Northumberland, 
Wliose power was in the first proportion. 
And what with Owen Glendower's absence 

thence. 
Who with them was a rated sinew too 
And comes not in, o'er-ruled by prophecies, 
I fear the power of Percy is too weak 
To wage an instant trial with the king. 20 
,S'/)' M. Why, my good lord, you need not 
fear ; 
There is Douglas and Lord Mortimer. 
Arch. No, Mortimer is not there. 
Sir M. But there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord 
Harry Percy, 
And there is my Lord of Worcester and a head 
Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen. 
Arch. And so there is : but yet the king 
hath drawn 
The special head of all the land together : 
The Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, 
The noble Westmoreland aud warlike Blunt ; 
And many moe corrivals aud dear men 31 
Of estimation and command in arms. 
Sir M. Doubt not, my lord, they shall be 

well opposed. 
Arch. I hope no less, yet needful 'tis to fear; 
And, to prevent the worst. Sir Michael, speed: 
For if Lord Percy thrive not, ere the king 
Dismiss his power, he means to visit us. 
For he hatii heard of our confederacy, 
And 'tis but wisdom to make strong against 

him : 
Therefore make haste. I must go write again 
To other friends ; and so farewell, Sir Michael. 
[Exeunt. 41 



ACT V. 

gcENE L The King's camp near Shewsbunj. 

Enter the King, Prince of Wxles, Lord 
John of Lancaster, Earl of Westmore- 
land, Sir Walter Blunt, and Falstaff. 
Kmg. How bloodily the sun begins to peer 

Above you busky bill ! the day looks pale 



At his distemperature. 

Prince. The southenvwiud 

Doth play the trumpet to his purposes, 
Aud by liis hollow whistling in tlie leaves 
Foretells a tempest and a blustering day. 
King. Then with the losers let it sympa- 
thize, 
For nothuig can seem foul to those that win. 
[The trumpet sounds. 

Enter Worcester and Vernon. 
How now, my Lord of Worcester ! 'tis mot Well 
That you and I should meet upon such terms 
As now we meet. You have deceived our trust 
Aud made us doff our easy robes of peace, 
To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel : 
This is not well, my lord, this is not well. 
What say you to it ? will you again unkuit 
This curlish knot of ali-abhorred war ? 
And move in that obedient orb again 
Where you did give a fair and natural light, 
And be no more an exhaled meteor, 
A prodigy of fear aud a portent 20 

Of broaciied mischief to the unborn times ? 

Wor. Hear me, my liege : 
For mine own part, I could be well content 
To entertain the lag-end of my life 
With quiet hours ; for I do protest, 
I have not sought the day of this dislike. 
King. You have not sought it ! how con,es 

it then? 
Fal. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found 

it. 
Prince. Peace, chewet, peace ! 
Wor. It pleased your majesty to turn your 
looks 30 

Of favor from myself and all our house ; 
And yet I must remember you, my lord. 
We were the first and dearest of your friends. 
For you my staff of office did I break 
In Richard's time ; and posted day and night 
To meet you on the way, aud kiss your hand, 
When yet you were in i^lace and in account 
Nothing so strong and fortunate as I. 
It was myself, my brother and his son. 
That brought you home and boldly outdare 
The dangers of the time. You swore to us, 41 
And you did swear that oath at Doncaster, 
That you did nothing purpose 'gainst the state ; 
Nor claim no further than your iie w-fall'n right, 
The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster : 
T<> this we swore our aid. But in short space 
It rain'd down fortune showering on your head; 
And such a flood of greatness fell on you, 
What with our help, what with the absent king, 
What with the injuries of a wanton time, 50 
The seeming sufferances that you had borne, 
Aud the contrarious winds that held the king 
So long in his unlucky Irish wars 
That all in England did repute him dead : 
And from tliis swarm of fair advantages 
You took occasion to be quickly woo'd 
To gripe the general sway into your hand ; 
Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster ; 
An(l being fed by us you used us so 
As that uugentle gull, the cuckoo's bird, 60 



Scene ii.] 



KING HENRY IV. PART f. 



40<* 



Useth the sparrow ; did oppress our nest ; 

Grew by our I'eediug to so great a bulk 

That even our love durst not come near yonr 

sight 
For fear of swallowing ; but with nimble wing 
We were enforced, for safety sake, to &y 
Out of your sight and raise this present head; 
W'herebj' we sUmd opposed by such means 
As you yourself have forged against yourself 
By unkind usage, dangerous countenance, 
And violation of all faith and troth 70 

Swoni to lis in your younger enterprise. 
King. These things indeed you have artic- 

nlate, 
Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches, 
To face the garment of rebellion 
\Vith some tine color tluit may please the eye 
Of fickle changeUngs and poor discontents. 
Which gape and rub the elbow at the news 
Of hurlyburly innovation : 
And never yet did insurrection want 
Such water-colors to impaint his cause ; 80 
Nor moody beggars, starving for a time 
Of pelhueil havoc and confusion. 
Prince. In both yonr armies there is many 

a soul 
Shall pay full dearly for this encounter, 
If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew, 
The Prince of A\'ales doth joiii with all the 

world 
In praise of Henry Percy : by my hopes, 
This present enterprise setoff his head, 
I do not think a braver gentleman, 
JMore active-valiant or more valiant-young, 90 
More daring or more bold, is now alive 
To grace this latter age with noble deeds. 
For my part, I may speak it to my shame, 
I have a truant been to chivalry ; 
And so I hear he doth account me too ; 
Yet this before my father's majesty — 
I am content that he shall take the odds 
Of his great name and estimation. 
And wDl, to save the blood on either side. 
Try fortune with him in a single fight. 100 
Eiufj. And, Prince of Wales, so dare we 

venture thee. 
Albeit considerations infinite 
Do make against it. No, good Worcester, no. 
We love our people well ; even those we love 
That are misled ui>on your cousin's part ; 
And, will they take the offer of our grace, 
I5oth he and they and you, yea, every man 
Shall be my friend again and I'll be his : 
So tell vour cousin, and bring me word 
What he will do : but if he will not yield, 110 
Kebuke and dread correction wait on us 
And they sha.l do their office. So, be gone ; 
We will not now be troubled with reply : 
We offer fair ; take it advisedly. 

[K:rt>(vt Worce.'iter and Veriton. 
Prince. It will not be accepted, on my life : 
Tlie Douglas and the Hotspur botli together 
Are conlitlent against the world in arms. 
Kinr/. Hence, therefore, every leader to his 

charge ; 
For, on their answer, will we set ou them : 



And God befriend us, as our cause is just ! 120 

[Exeunt all but the Prince of Wales ami 

Falstap: 

Fal. Hal, if thou see me down in the 
battle and bestride me, so ; 'tis a ix)int of 
friendship. 

Prince. Nothing but a colossus can do theo 
that friendship. Say thy prayers, and fare* 
well. 

Fal. I would 'twere bed-time, Hal, and 
all well. 

Prince. Why, thouowest God a death. 

[Frit. 

Fal. 'Tis not due yet ; I would be loath to 
pay liim before his day. What need I be so 
forward with him that calls not ou me ? Well, 
'tis no matter ; honor j)ricks me on. Yea, but 
how if honor prick me off when I come on ? 
how then ? Can honor set to a leg ? no : or an 
arm ? no : or take awaj' the grief of a wound ? 
no. Honor hath no skill in surgery, then ? no. 
What is honor ? a word. What is in that word 
honor ? what is that honor ? air. A trim reck- 
oning I Who hath it ? he that died o' W ednes- 
day. Doth he feel it ? no. Doth he hear it ? 
no. 'Tis insensible, then. Yea, to the dead. But 
will it not live with the living ? no. Why ? de- 
traction will not suffer it. Therefore I'll none 
of it. Honor is a mere scutcheon : and so 
ends my catechism. [Exit. 

Scene II. The rebel camp. 
Enter Worcester and Vernon. 

Wor. O, no, my nephew must not know, 

Sir Richard, 
The liberal and kind offer of the king. 
Ver. 'Twere best he did. 
Wo7'. Then are we all undone. 

It is not possible, it cannot be. 
The king should keep his wo^d in loving us ; 
He will suspect us still and find a time 
To punish this offence in other faults : 
Suspicion all our lives shall be stuck full of 

eyes ; 
For treason is but trusted like the fox. 
Who, ne'er so tame, so cherish'd and lock'd 

up, 10 

Will have a wild trick of his ancestors. 
Look how we can, or sad or merrily. 
Interpretation will misquote our looks. 
And we shall feed like o.xen at a stiiU, 
The better cherish'd, still the nearer death. 
My nephew's trespass may be well forgot ; 
It hath the e.Kcuse of youth and heat of blood. 
And an adopted name of privilege, 
A hair-brain'd Hotspur, govern'dby a spleen; 
All his offences live upon my head 'JO 

And on his father's ; we did train him on, 
And, his corruption being ta'en from us, 
We, as the spring of all, shall pay for all. 
Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know. 
In any case, the offer of the king. 

Vei: Deliver what you will ; I'll say 'tis so. 
Here comes your cousin. 



410 



KING HENRY IV. PART I. 



[Act v. 



Enter Hotspur and Douglas. 
Hot. My uncle is letum'd : 
Deliver up my Lord of Westraorelaud. 
Uucle, what iiews ? 30 

Wor. The king will bid you battle pres- 
ently. 
DoiKj. Defy him by tlie Lord of Westmore- 
land. 
Hot. Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so. 
Dotiq. Marry, and shall, and very willingly. 

[Exit. 
Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the 

king. 
Hot. Did you beg any ? God forbid ! 
Wor. I told him gently of our grievances, 
Of his oath-breaking ; which he mended thus, 
By now forswearing tliat he is forsworn : 
. He calls us rebels, traitors ; and will scourge 
With haughty arms this hateful name in us. 41 

Re-enter Douglas. 
DoiKj. Arm, gentlemen ; to arras ! for I 
have thrown 
A brave defiance in King Henry's teeth, 
And Westmoreland, that was engaged, did bear 

it; 
Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on. 
Wor. The Prince of Wales stepp'd forth 
before the king, 
And, nephew, challenged you to single fight. 
Hot. O, would the quarrel lay upon our 
heads. 
And that no man might draw short breath to- 
day 
But I and Harry Monmouth ! Tell me, tell 
me, 50 

How show'd his tasking ? seem'd it in con- 
tempt ? 
Ver. No, by my soul ; I never in my life 
Did hear a challenge urged more modestly, 
Unless a brother should a brother dare 
To gentle exercise and proof of arms. 
He gave you all the duties of a man ; 
Trimm'd up your jDraises with a princely 

tongue. 
Spoke your deservings like a chronicle. 
Making you ever better than his praise 
By still dispraising praise valued with you ; 60 
And, which became him like a prince Indeed, 
He made a blushing cital of himself ; 
And chid his truant youth with such a grace 
As if he master'd there a double spirit 
Of teaching and of learning instantly. 
There did he pause : but let me tell the world, 
If he outlive the envy of this daj% 
England did never owe so sweet a hope. 
So much misconstrued in his wantonness. 

Hot, Cousin, I think thou art enamored 70 
On his lollies : never did I hear 
Of any prince so wild a libertine. 
But be hu as he will, yet once ere night 
I will embrace him with a soldier's arm, 
That he shall shrink under my courtesy. 
Arm, arm with speed : and, fellows, soldiers, 

friends, 
Better cousider what you have to do 



Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue. 
Can lift your blood up with persuasion. 
Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. My lord, here are letters for you. 80 
Hot. I cannot read them now. 
O gentlemen, the time of life is short ! 
To spend that shortness basely were too long. 
If life did ride upon a dial's point. 
Still ending at the arrival of an hour. 
An if we live, we live to tread on kings ; 
If die, brave death, when princes die with 

us ! 
Now, for our consciences, the arms are fair. 
When the intent of bearing them is just. 
Enter anothef)' Messenger. 
Mess. My lord, prepare ; the king comes on 
apace. 90 

Hot. I thank liim, that he cuts me from ray 
tale, 
For I v>rofess not talking ; only this — 
liet each raan do his best : and here draw I 
A sword, whose temper I intend to stain 
With the best blood that 1 can meet withal 
In the adventure of this perilous day. 
Now, Esperance ! Percy ! and set on. 
Sound all the lofty instruments of war. 
And by that music let us all embrace ; 
For, heaven to earth, some of us never shall 
A second time do such a courtesy. 101 

\_Tlie trumpets sound. They embrace, and 

exeunt. 

Scene III. Plain between the camps. 

The King enters loith his power. Alarum, to 
the battlr. Then enter Douglas and Sir 
Walter Blunt. , 

Blunt. What is thy uame, that in the battle 
thus 
Thou Grossest me ? what lionor dost thou seek. 
Upon my head ? 

Doii(/. Know then, my name is Douglas : 
And I do haunt thee in the battle thus . 
Because some tell me that thou art a king. 
Blunt. They tell thee true. 
Douff. Tlie Lord of Stafford dear to-day 
hath bought 
Thy likeness, for instead of thee. King Harry, 
This sword hath ended him : so shall it thee. 
Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner. 10 

Blunt. I 'was not born a yielder, thou 
proud Scot ; 
And- thou .shalt find a king that will revenge 
Lord Stafford's death. 

[Th<yji(jht. Douglas kills Blunt. 
Enter Hotspur. 
Hot. O Douglas, hadst thou fought at 
Holmedon thus, 
I never had triumph'd upon a Scot. 
Doug. All's done, all's won ; here breath- 
less lies the king. 
Hot. Where? 
Doug. Here. 

Hot.^ This, Douglas ? no : I know this face 
iHllweU: 



Scene iv.] 



KTXG HENRY IV. PART I. 



411 



A gallant kiiiglit he was, his name was Blunt ; 

Semblably furni.sh'd like the king himself. 21 

Douij. A fool gi) with tliy soul, whither it 

goes ! 

A borrow'd title hast thou bought too dear : 

Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king? 

Hot. The king hath many marching in his 

coats. 
DoiKj. Now, by my sword, I will kill all his 
coats ; 
I'll murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece, 
Until 1 meet the king. 

Hot. Up, and away ! 

Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. 29 

\_Eteiuit, 

Alarum. Eater Falstaff, solus. 

Fill. Though I could 'scai)e shot-free at Lon- 
don, I fear the shot here ; here's no scoring 
but upon the pate. Soft ! who are you ? Sir 
Walter Blunt : there's honor for you ! here's 
no vanity ! 1 am as hot as molten le;xd, and as 
heavy too : God keep lead out of me ! 1 need 
no more weight than mine own bowels. I 
have led my ragamutlins where they are pep- 
l>ered : there's not three of my hundred and 
fifty left alive ; and they are for the tt)wn's 
end, to beg during life". But who comes 
here ? " 40 

Enter the Psince. 

Prince. What, stand'st thou idle here ? lend 
me thy sword : 
Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff 
Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies, 
Whose deaths are yet iinreveuged : I prithee, 
lend me thy sword. 

/'((/. O Hal, i prithee, give me leave to 
breathe awhile. Turk Gregory neverdid such 
deeds in arms; as 1 have done this day. 1 liave 
).«iid Percy, 1 have made him sure. 

Prinre.^Ue is, indeed: and livingto kill thee. 
1 prithee, lend me thv sword. 50 

Eal. Xav. before" God, Hal, if Percy be 
alive, thou get'st not my sword ; but take my 
pistol, if thou wilt. 

Pr.ne. Give it me: what, is it in the case ? 

Fed. .\v. Hal ; 'tis hot, 'tis hot ; there's 

that will .sack a city. [T7ie Prince drmc^ it out, 

and rind.-i it to be a bottle of .'tack: 

Prince. What! is it a time to jest and dally 
now ? [lie throirs the bottle id him. Efit. 

F(d. Well, if Percy be alive, I'll pierce him. 
If he do come in my way, so : if he do not, if I 
come in his willingly, let him make a carbonado 
oi me. I like not such grinning honor as Sir 
Walter hath : give me life : which if I can 
save, so ; if not, honor comes nnlooked for, and 
there's an end. [Exit. 

Scene IV. Another part of the field. 
Aliiriim. Excursions. Enter the King, the 
Pki.nce, Lord John of Lancaster, and 
Karl, of Westmoreland. 
King. I prithee, 
Harry, withdraw thyself ; thou bleed'st too 
much. 



Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him. 
Lan. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too. 
Prince. I beseech your majesty, make up. 
Lest your retirement So amaze your friends. 

King. I will do so. 
My Lord of W'estmoreland, lead him to his 
tent. 
West. Come, my lord, I'll lead you to your 

tent. 
Prince. Lead me, my lord ? I do not need 
your help : 10 

And God forbid a shallow scratch should drive 
The Prince of Wales from such a field as this, 
Where stain' d nobility lies trodden on, 
And rebels' arms triumpli in massacres ! 
Lan We breathe too long : come, cousin 
Westmoreland, 
Our duty this way lies ; for God's sake, come. 
[Exeunt Prime Joh)i and Westmoreland. 
Prince. By God, thou hast deceived me, 
L;incaster ; 
I did not think thee lord of such a spirit : 
Before, I loved thee as a brother, John ; 
But now, I do respect thee as my soul. 2C 

Kimj. I saw him hold Lord Percy at the 
l)oint 
With lustier maintenance than 1 did look for 
Of such an ungrown warrior. 

Prince. O, this boy 

Lends mettle to us all ! [Exit. 

Enter Douglas. 

Doug. Another king ! they grow like Hy- 
dra's heads : 
I am the Douglas, fatal to all those 
That wear those colors on them : what art 

thou. 
That counterfeit'st the person of a king ? 
King. The king himself ; who, Douglas, 
grieves at heart 
So many of his shadows thou hast met 30 

And not the very king. I have two boys 
Seek Percy and thyself about the field : 
But. seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily, 
1 will assay thee : so, defend thyself. 

Doug. I fear thou art another counterfeit ; 

And yet, in faith, thou bear'stthee like a king: 

But mine I am sure thou art. whoe'er thou be. 

And thus I win thee. [They fight ; the King 

being in danr/er, re-enter Prince of Wale*. 

Prince. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou 

ait like 

Never to hold it up again ! the spirits 40 

Of valiant Shirley, Staftbrd, Blunt, are in my 

arms : 
It is the Prince of W^ales that threatens thee ; 
Who never promiseth luit he means to pay 

[TJiey fight : Douglas flies. 
Cheerly, my lord : how fares your grace ? 
Sir Nicholas Gawsev hath for succor sent, 
And so hath Clifton : Til to Clifton .straight. 

Kim/. Stay, and breaiiie awhile : 
Thou liast redeem'd thy lost opinion, 
And show'd thou makest some tender of my 

life. 
In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me. 50 



41t 



KING HENRY IV. PART I. 



[Act r. 



Prince. God ! they did me too much in- 
jury 
That ever said I hearken'd for your death. 
If it were so, I might have let alone 
The insulting hand of Douglas over you, 
Whicii would have heefl as speedy in your end 
As all the poisonous potions in the world 
And saved the treacherous labor of your son. 
Kiny. Make up to Clifton : I'll to Sir Nich- 
olas Gavvsey. [Exit. 
Enter Hotspur. 
Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Mon- 
mouth. 
Prince. Thou speak'st as if I would deny 
ray name. 60 
Hot. My name is Harry Percy. 
Prince. Why, then I see 
A very valiant rebel of the name. 
I am the Prince of Wales ; and think not, 

Percy, 
To share with me in glory any more : 
Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere ; 
Nor can one England brook a double reign. 
Of Harry Percy and the Prince of Wales. 
Hot. Nor shall it, Harry ; for the hour is 
come 
To end the one of us ; and would to God 
Thy name in arms were now as great as mine! 
Prince. I'll make it greater ere I part from 
thee ; 71 

And all the budding honors on thy crest 
I'll crop, to make a garland for my head. 
Hot. I can no longer brook thy vanities. 

[Theyjight. 
Enter Falstaff. 
Fal. Well said, Hal ! to it, Hal ! Nay, you 
shall find no boy's play here, I can tell you. 

Re-enter Douglas ; he fights with Falstaff, 
who Julia doiim a.s (/' lie loere dead, and exit 
Douglas. Hotspur is loounded, and falls. 
Hot. O, Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my 

youtli ! 
I better brook the loss of brittle life 
Than those ])roud titles thou hast won of me ; 
Tliey wound my thoughts worse than thy 

sword my flesh : SO 

B;it thouglit's the slave of life, and life time's 

fool ; 
And time, that takes survey of all the world. 
Must liave a stop. O, I could prophesy, 
JJut that tin eartiiy and cold hand of death 
Lies on ray tongue : no, Percy, thou art dust. 
And food for— {Dies. 

Prince. For worras, brave Percy : fare thee 

well, great heart ! 
fU-weaved ambition, how much art thou 

shrunk ! 
When that tliis body did contain a spirit, 
A Icingdom for it was too small a bound ; 90 
But now two paces of the vilest earth 
is room enough : this earth that bears thee 

dead 
Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. 
U thou wert sensible oi' couitesy. 



I should not make so dear a show of zeal : 
But let my favors hide tliy mangled face ; 
And, even in thy behalf, I'll thank myself 
For doing these fair rites of tenderness. 
Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heav- 
en ! 
Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave, 100 
Bui not remember'd in tliy epitaph ! 

[//e spietk Falataff'on the groimd. 
What, old acquaintance ! could not all thib 

flesh 
Keep in a little life ? Poor Jack, farewell ! 
I could have better spared a better man : 
O, I should have a hejivy miss of thee. 
If I were much in love with va'iity ! 
Deatii hath not struck so fat a deer to-day, 
Though many dearer, in this bloody fray. 
Embowell'd will I see thee by and by : 
Till then in blood by noble Percy lie. [Exit. 110 
Fal. [Rising up] Embowelled ! if thou em- 
bowel me to-day, I'll give you leave to powder 
me and eat me too to-morrow. 'Sblood, 'twas 
time to counterfeit, or that hot ternuigant Scot 
had paid me scot and lot too. Counterfeit ? I 
lie, 1 am no counterfeit : to die, is to be a 
counterfeit ; for he is but the counterfeit of a 
man who hath not the life of a man : but to 
counterfeit dying, when a man thereby liveth, 
is to be no counterfeit, but the true and perfect 
image of life indeed. The better part of valor 
is discretion ; in the which better part I have 
saved ray hfe. 'Zounds, I am afraid of this 
gunpowder Percy, though he be dead : how, 
if he should counterfeit too and rise ? by my 
faith, I am afraid he would prove the better 
counterfeit. Therefore I'll make him sure ; 
yea, aud I'll swear I killed him. Why nuiy 
not he rise as well as I ? Nothing confute.^ me 
but eyes, and nobody sees me. Therefore, 
sirrah [stabbing him], with a new wound in 
your thigh, come you along with me. 

[Takes up Hotspur on his back 

Re-enter the Prince of Wales and Lord 
John of Lancaster. 

Prince. Come, brother John ; full bravely 
hast thou flesh'd 
Thy maiden sword. 

Lan. But, soft ! whom have we here ? 

Did you not tell rae this fat man was dead ? 

Prince. I did ; I saw him dead, 
Breathless and bleeding on the ground. Art 

thou alive ? 
Or is it fanttisy that plays upon our eyesight ? 
I prithee, speak; we will not trust our eyes loi) 
Without our ears : thou art not what tliou 
seem'st. 
Fal. No, that's certain ; I am not n double 
man : but if I be not Jack Falstaff, then am I 
a Jack. There is Percy [throwing the body 
down] : if your father will do me any honor, 
so ; if not, let him kill the next Percy himself. 
I look to be either earl or duke, 1 can assur.r 
you. 
Prince. Why, Percy I killed myself and 
saw thee dead. 



Scene v.] 



KING HENRY IV. PART I 



413 



Fal. Didst thou ? Lord, Lord, how this 
world is given to lying ! I grant you I was 
down and out of breath ; and so was he : but 
we rose both at an instant and fought a long 
lioiir by Shrewsbury clock. If I nuiy be be- 
lieved, so ; if not, lettlieui that should reward 
valor boar the sin upon tlieir own heads. I'll 
take it upon my death, I gave him this wound 
in the thigli : if the man were alive and would 
deny it, 'zounds, I would make him eat a piece 
of my sword. 
Lan. This is the strangest tale that ever I 

heard. 
Prince. This is the strangest fellow, brother 

John. ' 159 

Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back : 
For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, 
I'll gild it with the ha[)piest terms I have. 

[A re()X'at is sounded. 
The trumpet .sounds retreat ; the day is ours. 
Come, brother, let us to the highest of the 

field, 
To see what friends are living, who Are dead. 

[Exeunt Prince of }V(iies and Lancaster. 
Fal. ril follow, as they say, for reward. 
He that rewards me. God reward him ! If I 
do grow great, I'll giow less ; for I'll purge, 
and leave sack, and live cleanly as a nobleman 
should do. {Exit. 

Scene V. Another part of the field. 

The trnmpet.'^ sound. Enter the Ktng. Prince 
OF Wales, Lokd John of Lanca.ster, 
Earl of Westmorel.vnd, ivith VVorces- 
TEK a7id Vernon Driso/icrs. 

Kinrf. Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke. 
(U-spirited Worcester ! did not we send grace. 
Pardon and terms of love to all of you ? 
And wouldst thou turn our offers contrary? 
Misuse the tenor of thy kinsman's trust ? 
.'liree knights upon our party slain to-day, 
A noble earl and many a creature else 
Had been alive this hour, 
If like a Christian thou hadst truly borue 
Betwixt our armies true iuteUigence. 10 



Wor. What I have done my safety urged 
me to ; 
And I embrace this fortune patiently. 
Since not to be avoided it falls on me. 
Kin;/. Bear Worcester to the death and 
Vernon too : 
Otlier offenders we will pause ui)on. 

[Exeunt Worcester and Vernon, i/uaidcd. 
How goes the field ? [he .saw 

Prince. The noble Scot, Lord Douglas, when 
The fortune of the day quite turn'd from him. 
The noble Percy .slain, and all his men 
Upon the foot of fear, fled with the rest ; 20 
And falling from a hill, he was so bruised 
That the pursuers took liim. At my tent 
The Douglas is ; and I beseech your grace 
I may dispose of him. 
Kin;/. With all my heart. 

Prince. Then, brother John of Lancaster, 
to you 
This honorable bounty shall belong : 
Go to the Douglas, and deliver him 
Up to his pleasure, ransomless and free : 
His valor shown upon our crests to-day 
Hath biught us how to cherish such high 
deeds 30 

Even in the bo.som of our adversaries. 
Lan. I thank your grace for this high cour- 
tesy, 
Which I shall give away immediately. 
King. Then this remains, that we divide 
our power. 
You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland 
Towards York shall bend you with your dear- 
est speed. 
To meet Northumberland and the prelate 

Scroop, 
Who, as we hear, are biisily in arms : 
."\lyself and you, sou Harry, will towards 

Wales, 
To fight with Glendowcr and the Earl of 
Marcli. 40 

Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway, 
Meeting the check of such another day : 
And since this business so fair is done, 
Let us not leave till all our own be won. 

[Exeuni 



KING HENRY IV. PART n. 



(written about 1597-98.) 



INTRODUCTION. 
[See Introductiou to Part I] 

DKAMATIS PERSONS. 



his 

S0U3. 



Rhmour, the Presenter. 

KrNG Henry the Fourth. 

Hknry, Prince of Wales, after- ^ 

wards King Henry V,, 
Thomas, Duke of Clarence, 
Prince John of Lancaster, 
Prince Humphrey of Gloucester, j 
Earl of Warwick. 
Earl of Westmoreland. 
Earl of Surrey. 

GOWER. 

Harcourt. 
Blunt. 

.Lord Chief-Justice of the King's Bench. 
A Servant of the Chief-Justice. 
Earl of Northumberland. 
Scroop, Archbishop of York. 
Lord Mowbray. 
Lord Hastings. 
Lord Bardolph. 
Sir John Colevile. 

Travers and Morton, retainers of Northum- 
berlajid. 



Sir John Falstaff. 
His Page. 
Hardolph. 
Pistol. 

POINS. 

Peto. 

:5rL"s:'|--t^yi-t-«- 

Davy, Servant to Shallow. 

Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and 

Bulli;alf, recruits. 
Fano and Snare, sheriff's offlcers. 

Lady Northumberland. 

Lady Percy. 

Mistress Quickly, hostess of a tavern iii 

Eastcheap. 
Doll Tearsheet. 

Lords and Attendants ; Porter, Drawers, 
Beadles, Grooms, &c. 

.i Dancer, speaker of the epilogue. 

Scene : England. 



INDUCTION. 

Warhworth. Before the castle. 

Enter Rnmonv, painted full of tongues 

Rum. Open your ears ; for which of you 
will stop 
The vent of hearing when loud Rumour speaks? 
I, from the orient to tlie drooping west. 
Milking the wind my post-horse, still unfold 
The acts commenced on this ball of earth : 
Upon my tongues continual slanders ride, 
The which in every language I pronounce, 
Stuffing the ears of men with false reports. 
I speak of peace, wliile covert enmity 
Vnder the smile of safety wounds the world ; 



And who but Rumour, who but only I, IJ 
Make fearful musters and prepared defence. 
Whiles the big year, swolu with some other 

grief. 
Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war, 
And no such matter ? Rumour is a pipe 
Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures, 
And of so easy and so plain a stop 
That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, 
The still-discordant wavering multitude. 
Can play upon it. But what need I thus 20 
My well-known body to anatomize 
Among ray household ? Why is Rumour 

here ? 
I run before King Harry's victory ; 
Wha in a bloody field by Shrewsbury 



Scene i.] 



KING HENRY IV. PART IL 



415 



Hath beaten down young Hotspur and his 

tK)ops, 
Quenching the flame of bold rebellion 
Even with the rebel's blood. But wliat mean I 
To sjjeak so true at first ? my office is 
To noise abroad that Harry Monmouth fell 
Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword, 30 
And that the king before the Douglas' rage 
Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death. 
This have I rumor'd through the peasant 

towns 
ISetweeu that royal field of Shrewsbury 
And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone, 
Where Hot»;pur's father, old Northumberland, 
Lies crafty-sick : the posts come tiring on, 
And not a man of them brings other news 
Than they have learn'd of me : from Rumour's 

tongues 
They bring smooth comforts false, worse than 

true wrongs. {Exit. 40 



ACT I. 

Scene I. The same. 

Enter Lord Bardolph. 

xj. Bard. Who keeps the gate here, ho ? 

The Porter opens the gate. 

Where is the earl ? 
Port. What shall I say you are ? 
L. Bard. Tell thou the earl 

That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here. 
Port. His lordship is walk'd forth into the 
orchard ; 
Please it your honor, knock but at the gate, 
And he himself will answer. 

Enter Northumberland. 
L. Bard. Here comes the earl. 

[Exit Porter. 
Xwth. What news, Lord Bardolph ? every 
minute now 
Should be the father of some stratagem : 
The times are wild ; contention, like a horse 
Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose 
And bears down all before him. 11 

L. Bard. Noble earl, 

I bring you certain news from Slirewsbury. 
North. Good, an God will ! 
L. Bard. As good as heart can wish : 

The king is almost wounded to the death ; 
And, in the fortune of my lord your son. 
Prince Harry slain outright ; and both the 

Blunts 
KiU'd by the hand of Douglas ; young Prince 

John 
And Westmoreland and Stafford fled the field ; 
And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk Sir 

John, 
Is prisoner to your soti : O, such a day, 20 
So fought, so follow'd and so fairly won. 
Came not till now to dignify the times, 
Since Caear's fortunes ! 

.^orlh. How is this 4erived ? 



Saw you the field ? came you from Shrews- 
bury ? 
L. Bard. I spake with one, my lord, that 
came from thence, 
A gentleman well bred and of good name, 
That freely render'd me these news for true. 
JS^orth. Here comes my servant Travers, 
whom I sent 
On Tuesday last to listen after news. 
Enter Travers. 
L. Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the 
way ; 30 

And he is furnish'd with no certainties 
More than he haply may letail from me. 
JVorth. Now, Travers, what good tidings 

comes with you ? 
Tra. My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn'd 
me back 
With joyful tidings ; and, being better horsed. 
Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard 
A gentleman, almost forspent with speed, 
That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied 

horse. 
He ask'd the way to Chester ; and of him 
I did demand what news from Shrewsbury : 40 
He told me that rebellion had bad luck 
And that young Harry Percy's .spur was cold. 
With that, he gave his able horse the head, 
And bending forward struck his armed heels 
Against the panting sides of his poor jade 
Up to the rowel-head, and starting so 
He seem'd in running to devour the way, 
Staying no longer question. 

North. Ha ! Again : 

Said he young Harry Percy's spur wag cold ? 
Of Hotspur Coldspur ? that rebellion 50 

Had met ill luck ? 

L. Bard. My lord, Fll tell you what ; 

If my young lord your son have not the day, 
Upon mine honor, for a silken point 
rU give my barony : never talk of it. 
North. AVhy should that gentleman that 
rode by Travers 
Give then such instances of loss ? 

L. Bard. Who, he ? 

He was some hilding fellow that had stolen 
The horse he rode on, and, ujxjn my life. 
Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more 
news. 

Enter Morton. 
North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title- 
leaf, ■ 60 
Foretells the nature of a tragic volume : 
So looks the strand whereon the imijerious 

flood 
Hath left a witness'd usurpation. 
Sav, Morton, didst thou come from Shrews- 
bury ? 
3Ior. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble 
lord ; 
Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask 
To fright our party. 

North How dotl\ r .y son and brother? 

Thou tremblost ; and th<. whiteness in thy 
cUeek 



416 



KING HENRY IV. PART II. 



[Act I. 



l3 apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand, 
liven such a man, so faint, so spiritless, 70 
So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begoue, 
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night, 
And would have told him half his Troy was 

burnt ; 
But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue. 
And I my Percy's death ere thou report' st it. 
This thou wouldst say, ' Your son did thus and 

thus ; 
Your brother thus: so fought the noble Doug- 
las : ' 
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds : 
But in the end, to stop ra.y ear indeed, 
Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise, 80 
Ending with ' Brother, son, and all are dead.' 
Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, 
yet ; 
But, for my lord your son, — 

Xorth. Why, he is dead. 

See what a ready tongue suspicion hath ! 
He that but fears the thing he would not know 
Hath by instinct knowledge from others' eyes 
That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, 

Morton ; 
Tell thou an earl his divination lies, 
And I will take it as a sweet disgrace 
And make thee rich for doing me such wrong. 
Mor. You are too great to be by me gain- 
said : 91 
Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain. 
North. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's 
dead. 
I see a strange confession in thine eye : 
Thoushakest thy head and hold'st it fear or sin 
To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so ; 
The tongue offends not that reports his death : 
And he doth sin that doth belie the dead. 
Not lie which says the dead is not alive. 
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news 100 
Hath but a losing office, and his tongue 
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, 
Remember'd tolling a departing friend. 
L. Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son 

is dead. 
Mor. I am sorry I should force you to be- 
lieve 
That which I would to God I had not seen ; 
But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state, 
Rendering faint quittance, wearied and out- 
breathed, 
To Harry Monmouth ; whose swift wrath beat 

down 
The never-daunted Percy to the earth, 110 
From whence with life he never more sprung 

up. 
In few, his death, whose spirit lent a fire 
Even to the dullest peasant in his camp, 
Being bruited once, took fire and heat away 
From the best temper'd courage in his troops; 
For from his metal was his paity steel'd ; 
Which once in him abated, all the rest 
Tum'd on themselves, like dull and heavy 

lead : 
And as the thing that's heavy in itself, 
Upon enforcement flies with greatest epeed. 



So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's hiss, 121 
Lend to this weight such lightness with theii 

fear 
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim 
Thau did our soldiers, aiming at their safety, 
Fly from the field. Then was the noble Wor- 
cester 
Too soon ta'en prisoner ; and that furious 

Scot, 
The bloody Douglas, whose well-laboring 

sword 
Had three times slain the appearance of the 

king, 
'Gau vail his stomach and did grace the 

shame 
Of those that tum'd their backs, and in his 

flight, 130 

Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all 
Is that the king hath won, and hath sent out 
A speedy power to encounter you, my lord, 
Under the conduct of young Lancaster 
And Westmoreland. This is the news at full. 
North. For this I shall have time enough 

to mourn. 
In poison there is physic ; and these news. 
Having been well, that would have made me 

"sick. 
Being sick, have in some measure made me 

well : 
And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd 

joints, 140 

Like streugthless hinges, buckle under life, 
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire 
Out of his keeper's arms, even so my limbs, 
Weaken'd with grief, being now enraged with 

grief. 
Are thrice themselves. Hence, therefore, thou 

nice crutch ! 
A scaly gauntlet now with joints of steel 
Must glove this hand : and hence, thou sickly 

quoif ! 
Thou art a guard too wanton for the head 
Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim v.- 

hit. 
Now bind my brows witli iron ; and approach 
The ragged' st hour that time and spite daic 

bring 1;") 1 

To frown upon the enraged Northumberland I 
Let heaven kiss earth ! now let not Nature's 

hand 
Keep the \vild flood confined ! let order die ! 
And let this world no longer be a stage 
To feed contention in a lingering act ; 
But let one spirit of the first-born Cain 
Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being 

set 
On bloody courses, the rude scene may end, 
And darkness be the burier of the dead ! 160 
Tra. This strained passion doth you wrong, 

my lord. 
L. Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdoi» 

from your honor. 
Mor. The lives of all your loving complices 
Lean on your health ; the which, if you give 

o'er 
To stormy passion, must perforce decay. 



Scene ii.J 



KING HENRY IV. PART II. 



417 



You cast the event of war, my uoble lord, . 
And summ'd the account of chance, before 

you said 
' Let us make head.' It was your presurmise, 
That, in the dole of blows, your sou might 

drop : 
i'ou knew he wallc'd o'er perils, on an edge. 
More likely to fall in than to get o'er ; 171 

You were advised his flesh was capable 
•Of wounds and scars and that his forward 

spirit 
Would lift him where most trade of danger 

ranged : 
Yet did you say ' Go forth ; ' and none of this. 
Though strongly apprehended, could restrain 
The stiff-borne action : what hath tlien be- 
fallen, 
Or what hath this bold enterprise brouglit 

forth, 
More than that being which was like to be ? 
L. Bard. We all that are engaged to this 

loss 180 

Knew that we ventured on such dangerous 

seas 
Tliat if we wrought our life 'twas ten to one ; 
And yet we ventured, for the gain proposed 
Clioked the respect of likely peril fear'd ; 
And since we are o'erset, venture again. 
Come, we will all put forth, body and goods. 
Mor. 'Tis more than time : and, my most 

uoble lord, 
I hear lor certain, and do speak the truth. 
The gentle Archbishop of York is up 
With well-appointed powers : he is a man 190 
Who with a double surety binds his follow- 
ers. 
My lord your son had only but the corpse. 
But shadows and the shows of men, to fight ; 
For tliat same word, rebellion, did divide 
The action of their bodies from their souls ; 
And they did fight witli queasiuess,constrain'd. 
As men drink potions, that their weapons only 
Seem'd on our side ; but, for their spirits and 

souls. 
This word, rebellion, it had froze them up. 
As fish are in a ])ond. But now the bisho]j 200 
Turns insurrection to religion : 
Supposed sincere and holy in his thoughts. 
He's followed both with body and with mind; 
And dotli enlarge his rising with tlie blood 
Of fair King Richard, scraped from Pomfret 

stones ; 
Derives from heaven his quarrel and his 

cause ; 
Tells tliem he doth bestride a bleeding land, 
(iasping for life under great Bolingbroke ; 
Aud more and less do flock to follow him. 
North. I knew of this before ; but, to 

speak truth, 210 

This present gi-ief had wiped it from my mind. 
(Jo in witli me ; and counsel every man 
The aptest way for safety and revenge : 
Get posts and letters, and make friends with 

speed : 
Never so few, aud never yet more need. 

[Exeurit. 



Scene II. London. A street. 

Enter Falstaff, loith his Page bearing his 
sword and btwkler' 

Fal. Sirrah, you giaut, what says the doc- 
tor to my water ? 

Page. He said, sir, the water itself was a 
good healtliy water ; but, for the party that 
owed it, he might have more diseases than he 
knew for. 

Fal. Men of all sorts take a pride to gird 
at me : the brain of this foolish-compounded 
clay, man, is not able to invent anything that 
tends to laughter, more than I invent or is in- 
vented on me : I am not only witty in myself, 
but the cause that wit is in other men. I 
do here walk before thee like a sow that hath 
overwhelmed all her litter but one. If the 
prince i)ut thee into my service for any other 
reason than to set me off, why then I have no 
judgment. TJiou whoreson mandrake, thou 
art titter to be worn in niy cap than to wait at 
my heels. I was never manned with an agate 
till now : but I will mset you neither in gold nor 
silver, but in vile apparel, and send jou back 
again to your master, for a jewel, — the Juve- 
nal, the prince your master, whose chin is not 
yet fledged. I will sooner have a beard 
gi'owin the palm of my hand than he shall 
get one on his cheek ; and yet he will not 
stick to say his face is a face-royal ; God may 
finish it when he will, 'tis not a hair amiss 
yet : he may keep it still at a face-royal, for a 
barber shall never earn sixpence out of it ; 
aud yet lie'll be crowing as if he had writ 
man ever since his fatlier was a bachelor. He 
may keep lii.s own grace, but lie's almost out 
of mine, I cau assure him. What said Master 
Dombledon about the satin for my short cloak 
and my slops ? 

Page. He said, sir, you sliould procure him 
better assurance than Bardolph : he would 
not take his baud and yours ; he liked not the 
security. 

Fal. Let him be damned, like tlie glutton ! 
pray God his tongue be hotter I A whoreson 
Acliitophel ! a rascally yea-forsooth knave ! 
to bear a gentleman in hand, and then stand 
upon security ! The whoreson smooth-pates 
do now wear nothing but high shoes, and 
bunches of keys at their girdles ; and if a 
luan is through with them iu houest taking 
up, then they must stand upon security. I 
had as lief they would put ratsbane in my 
mouth as offer to stop it with security. I 
looked a' should have sent me two and twenty 
yards of satin, as I am a true knight, and lie 
sends ine security. Well, he may sleep in se- 
curity; for he hath the horn of abundance, aud 
the lightness of his wife shines through it : 
and yet cannot he see, though he have his own 
lanthorn to light him. Where's Bardolph ? 

Page. He's gone into Smithfield to buy your 
worship a horse. 

Fal. I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy 
me a horse in Smithfield : au I could get me 
27 



418 



KING HENRY IV. PART 11. 



[Act 



but a wife in the stews, I were manned, 
horsed, and wived. 61 

Enter the Lord Chief-Justice and Servant. 

Page. Sir, here comes the nobleman that 
committed the prince for striliiug him about 
Bardolph. 

Fal. Wait, close ; I will not see him. 

Ch. Just. What's he that goes there ? 

Serv. Falataff, an't please your lordship. 

Ch. .Just. He that was in question for the 
robbery ? 69 

Serv. He, my lord : but he hath since done 
good service at Shrewsbury ; and, as I hear, 
is now going with some charge to the Lord 
John of Lancaster. 

Ch. Just. What, to York ? Call him back 
again. 

Serv. Sir John Falstaff ! 

Fal. Boy, tell him I am deaf. 

Page. You must speak louder ; my master 
is deaf. 79 

Ch. Just. I am sure he is, to the hearing of 
any thing good. Go, pluck him by the elbow ; 
I must speak with him. 

Serv. Sir John ! 

Fal. What ! a young knave, and begging ! 
Is there not wars ? is there not employment ? 
doth not the king lack subjects ? do not the 
rebels need soldiers ? Though it be a shame 
to be on any side but one, it is worse shame to 
beg than to be on the worst side, were it worse 
than the name of rebellion can tell how to 
make it. 90 

Serv. You mistake me, sir. 

Fal. Why, sir, did I say you were an honest 
man ? setting my knighthood and my soldier- 
ship aside, I had lied in my throat, if I had 
said so. 

Serv. I pray you, sir, then set your knight- 
hood and your soldier.ship aside ; and give 
me leave to tell you, you lie in your throat, if 
you say I am any other than an honest man. 

Fal. I give thee leave to tell me so ! I lay 
aside that which grows to me ! If thou get- 
test any leave of me, hang me ; if thou takest 
leave, thou wert better be hanged. You hunt 
counter : hence ! avaunt ! 

Serv. Sir, my lord would speak with you. 

Ch. Just. Sir John Falstaff, a word with you. 

Fal. My good lord ! God give your lord- 
ship good time of day. I am glad to see your 
lordship abroad : I heard say your lordship 
was sick : I hope your lordship goes abroad by 
advice. Your lordship, though not clean past 
your youth, hath yet some smack of age in 
you, some relish of the saltne.ss of time ; and 
I must humbly beseech your lordship to have 
a reverent care of your health. 

Ch. Just. Sir John, I sent for you before 
your expedition to Shrewsbury. 

Fal. An't please your lordship, I hear his 
majesty is returned with some discomfort 
from Wales. 

Ch. Jxist. I talk not of his majesty : you 
would not come when I sent for you. 121 



Fal. And I hear, moreover, his highness is 
fallen into this same whoreson apoplexy. 

Ch. Just. Well, God mend him ! I pray 
you, let me speak with you. 

Fal. This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind 
of lethargy, an't please your lordship ; a kind 
of sleeping in the blood, a whoreson tingling. 

Ch. Just. What tell you me of it ? be it as 
it is. 130 

Fal. It hath its original from much grief, 
from study and perturbation of the brain : V 
have read the cause of his eflects in Galen : 
it is a kind of deafness. 

Ch. Just. I think you are fallen into tVie 
disease ; for you hear not what I say to you. 

Fal. Very well, my lord, very well : ra-< 
ther, an't please you, it is the disease of not 
listening, the malady of not marking, that I 
am troubled withal. 140 

Ch. Just. To punish you by the heels would 
amend the attention of your ears ; and I care 
not if I do become your physician. 

Fal. I am as poor as Job, my lord, but not 
so patient : your lordship may minister the 
potion of imprisonment to me in respect of 
poverty ; but how should I be your patient to 
follow your prescriptions, the Avise may make 
some dram of a scruple, or indeed a scrujile 
itself. 

Ch. Just. 1 sent for you, when there were 
matters against you for your life, to come 
speak with me. 

Fal. As I was then advised by my learned 
counsel in the laws of this land-service, I did 
not come. 

Ch. Just. Well, the truth is. Sir John, you 
live in great infamy. 

Fal. He that buckles him in my belt can- 
not live in less. 

Ch. Just. Your means are very slender, 
and your waste is great. 160 

Fal. I would it were otherwise ; I would 
my means were greater, and my waist slen- 
derer, [prince. 

Ch. Just. You have misled the youthful 

Fal. TJie young prince hath misled me : I 
am the fellow with the great belly, and he my 
dog. 

Ch. Just. Well, I am loath to gall a new- 
healed wound : your day's service at Shrews- 
bury hath a little gilded over your night's ex- 
ploit on Gad's-hill : you may thank the un- 
quiet time for your quiet o'er-posting that ac- 
tion. 171 

Fal. My lord ? 

Ch. Just. But since all is well, keep it so : 
wake not a sleeping wolf. 

Fal. To wake a wolf is as bad as to smell a 
fox. 

Ch. Just. What ! you are as a candle, the 
better part burnt out. 

Fal. A wassail candle, my lord, all tallow : 
if I did s.iy of wax, my growth would approve 
the truth. 181 

Ch. Just. There is not a white hair on your 
face but should have his effect of gravity. 



Scene hi.] 



KING HENRY IV. PART II 



419 



Fal. His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy. 
Ch. Just . You follow the young prince up 
and down, like his ill angel. 

Fal. Not so, my lord ; your ill angel is 
light ; but I hope he that looks upon me will 
take me without weighiug : and yet, in some 
re^*pe(>ts, I grant, I cannot go : I cannot tell. 
Virtue is of so little regard in these coster- 
monger times that true valor is turned bear- 
herd : pregnancy is made a taj^ster, and hath 
his quick wit wasted in giving reckonings : all 
the other gifts appertinent to man, as the 
malice of this age shapes them, are not worth 
a gooseberry. You that are old consider not 
the capacities of us that are young ; you do 
measure the heat of our livers with the bitter- 
ness of your galls : and we that are in the 
vaward of our youth, I must confess, are wags 
too. 200 

Ch. Just. Do you set down your name in 
the scroll of youth, that are written down old 
with all the characters of age ? Have you not 
a moist eye ? a dry hand ? a yellow cheek ? 
a white beard ? a decreasing leg? an increas- 
ing belly ? is not your voice broken ? your 
wind short ? your chin double ? your wit sin- 
gle ? and every part about you blasted with 
antiquity ? and will you yet call yourself 
young ?* Fie, fie, fie. Sir John ! 

Fal. My lord, I was bom about three of 
the clock in the afternoon, with a white head 
and something a round belly. For my voice, I 
have lost it with halloing and singing of 
anthems. To approve my youth further, I 
will not : the truth is, I am only old in judg- 
ment and understanding ; and he that will 
caper with me for a thousand marks, let him 
lend me the money, and have at him ! For 
the box of the ear that the prince gave you, 
he gave it like a rude prince, and you took it 
like a sensible lord. I have checked him for 
it, and the young lion repents ; marry, not in 
ashes and sackcloth, but in new silk and old 
sack. 

Ch. Jtist. Well, God send the prince a bet- 
ter companion ! 

Fal. God send the companion a better 
prince ! I cannot rid my hands of him. 

Ch. Just. Well, the king hath severed you 
and Prince Harry : I hear you are going with 
Lord John of Lancaster against the Arcli- 
hishop and the Esirl of Northumberland. 2.'?0 
Fal. Yea ; I thank your pretty sweet wit 
for it. But look you pray, all you that kiss 
uiy lady Peace at home, th.at our armies join 
not iu a hot day ; for, by the Lord, I take but 
two shirts out with me, and I mean not to 
sweat extraordinarily : if it be a hot day, and 
I brandish any thing but a bottle, I would I 
might never spit white again. There is not a 
dangerous action can peep out his head but I 
am thrust upon it : well, I cannot last ever : 
but it was alway yet the tiick of our Eng- 
lish nation, if they have a good thing, to 
make it too common. If ye will needs saj^ 1 
»m au old maa, you should give me rest. I 



would to God my name were not so terrible 
to the enemy as it is : I were better to be 
eaten to death with a rust than to be scoured 
to nothing with perpetual motion. 

Ch. Just. Well, be honest," be honest ; and 
God bless your expedition ! 

Fal. Will your lordshii) lend me a thou- 
sand pound to furnish uie forth ? 25] 

Ch. Just. Notajicnny, not a penny ; you 
are too impatient to bear o'osses. Fare you 
well : commend me to my cousin Westmore- 
land. [Exeimt Chief- Justice and Servant. 

Fal. If I do, fillip me with a three-man 
beetle. A man can no more sejiarate age and 
covetousncss than a' can part young limbs and 
lechery : but the gout galls the one, and the 
pox pinches the other ; and so both the de- 
grees prevent my curses. Boy ! 2G0 

Par/e. Sir ? 

Fal. What money is in my purse ? 

Page. Seven groats and two pence. 

Fal. I can get no remedy against this con- 
sumption of the purse : borrowing only lin- 
gers and lingers it out, but the disease is in- 
curable. Go bear this letter to my Lord of 
Lancaster ; this to the prince ; this to the 
Earl of Westmoreland ; and tliis to old Mis- 
tress Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to 
marry since I perceived the first white hair on 
my ciiin. About it : you know where to find 
me. [Exit Page.] A pox of this gout ! or, a 
gout of this pox ! for the one or the other 
plays the rogue with my grent toe. 'Tis no 
matter if I do halt ; I have the wars for my 
color, and my pension shall seem the more 
reasonable. A good wit will make use of auy 
thing : I will turn diseases to commodity. 

[Exit. 

Scene III. York. The Archbishop's palace. 

Enter the Archbishop, the Lords Hastings, 
Mowbray, and Bardolph. 

Arch. Thus have you heard our cause and 
known our means ; 
And, my most noble friends, I pray you all, 
Speak plainly your opinions of our hojies : 
And first, lord marshal, what say you to it ? 
Mowb. I well allow the occasion of our 
arms ; 
But gladly would be better satisfied 
How in our meajis we should advance our- 
selves 
To look with forehead bold and big enough 
Upon the power and puissance of tlie king. 
Ilctst. Our present musters grow upon the 
file 10 

To five and twenty thousand men of choice ; 
And our supplies live largely in the hope 
Of great Noitliumberlaud, whose bosom burns 
With an incensed fire of injuries. 
L. Bard. The question then, Lord Hast- 
ings, standeth thus ; [sand 
Whether our present five and twenty thou- 
May hold u}) head without Northumberland ? 
Hast. With him, we may. 



420 



KING HENRY IV. PART 11. 



[Act n. 



L. Bard. Yea, marry, there's the point : 
But if witliout liiai we be tlioiight too feeble, 
i'llv judt;iuent is, we should uot step too far 
Till we luid his assistance by tlie hand ; 21 
For iu a tlienie so bloody-faced as this 
Conjecture, exi^ectation, and surmise 
Of aids incertain sliould not be admitted. 
Arch. 'Tis very true, Lord Bardolph ; for 

indeed 
It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury. 
L. Bard. It was, my lord ; who lined him- 
self with hope. 
Eating the air on promise of snpply, 
Flattering himself in project of a power 
Much smaller than the smallest of his 

thoughts : 30 

And so, witli great imagination 
Proijer to madmen, led his powers to death 
And winking leap'd into destruction. 
Hast. But, by your leave, it never yet did 

hurt 
To lay down likelihoods and forms of hope. 
L. Bard. tYes, if this i^resent quality of 

war. 
Indeed the instant action : a cause on foot 
Lives so in hope as in an early spring 
We see the appearing buds ; which to prove 

fruit, 
Hope gives not so much Avarrant as despair 40 
That frosts will bite them. When we mean 

to build, 
AVe first survey the plot, then draw the 

model ; 
And when we see the figure of the house, 
Then nnist we rate the cost of the erection ; 
Which if we find outweighs ability, 
W'.uit do we then but draw anew the model 
In fewer offices, or at last desist 
To build at all ? Much more, in this great 

work, 
Which is almost to pluck a kingdom dowii 
And set another up, should we survey 50 

The plot of situation and the model, 
Consent upon a sure foundation. 
Question surveyors, know our own estate, 
How able such a work to undergo, 
To w^eigh against his opposite ; or else 
We fortify in paper and in figures. 
Using the names of men instead of men : 
Like one that draws the model of a house 
Beyond his power to build it ; who, half 

• through, 
Gives o'er and leaves his part-created cost 60 
A naked subject to the weeping clouds 
And waste for churlish winter's tyranny. 
JIast. Grant that our hopes, yet likely of 

fair birth, [sess'd 

Should be still-born, and that we now pos- 
The utuiost man of ex]iectation, 
I think we are a body strong enough. 
Even as we are, to equal with the king. 
L. Bard. What, is the king but five and 

twenty thousand ? 
Tfd.'il. To us no more •, nav, not so much, 

Lord Bardolph. 
JTox' liitj divisions, as the times do brawl, 7C 



Are in three heads : one power against the 

French, 
And one against Glendower ; perforce a third 
Must take up us : so is the unfirm king 
In three divided ; and his coffers sound 
With hollow poverty and emptiness. 
Arch. That he should draw his several 
strengths together 
And come against us in full puissance, 
Need not be dreaded. 

Hast. If he should do so. 

He leaves his back unarm' d, the French and 

Welsh 
Baying him at the heels : never fear that. 80 
L. Bard. Who is it like should lead his 

forces hitlier ? 
Hcust. The Duke of Lancaster and West- 
moreland ; 
Against the Welsh, himself and Harry Mon- 
mouth : 
But who is substituted 'gainst the French, 
I have no certain notice. 

Arch. Let us on, 

And publi.sh the occasion of our arms. 
The commonwealth is sick of their own 

choice ; 
Their over-greedy love hath surfeited : 
An habitation giddy and unsure 
Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart. 90 
O thou fond many, with what loud applause 
Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Boling- 
broke, [be ! 

Before he was what thou wouldst have him 
And being now trimm'd in thine own desires, 
Thou, beastly feeder, art so full of him, 
That thou provokest thyself to cast him up. 
So, so, thou common dog, didst tliou disgorge 
Thy glutton bosom of the royal Richard ; 
And now thou wouldst eat thy dead vomit 

up, 
And howl'st to find it. What trust is in these 
times ? 100 

They that, when Richard lived, would have 

him die. 
Are now become enamor'd on his grave : 
Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly 

head 
When through proud London he came sigh- 
ing on 
After the admired heels of Bolingbroke, 
Criest now ' O earth, yield us that king again, 
And take thou this ! ' thoughts of men 

accursed ! 
Past and to come seems best ; things present 
worst. 
Mowb. Shall we go draw our numbers and, 

set on ? 
Hast. We are time's subjects; and time 
bids be gone. {Exeunt. 110 



ACT II. 

Scene I. London. A street. 

Enter Hostess, Fang and his Boy with her, 
and Sii AJciEf oUowinff. 



ScEIfB I.] 



KING HENRY IV. PART 11. 



421 



Host. Master Fang, have you entered the 

action ? 

Fang. It is entered. 

Host. "Where's your yeoman ? Is'talusty 
yeoman ? will a' stand to 't ? 

Fawi. Sirrah, wheve's Snare ? 

Host. O Lord, ay ! good blaster Snare. 

Snare. Here, here. 

Fang. Snare, we must arrest Sir John Fal- 
staff. ■ 10 

Host. Yea, good Master Snare ; I liave en- 
tered liim and all. 

Snare. It may chance cost some of us our 
lives, for he will stjib. 

Host. Alas the day ! take heed of him ; he 
stabbed me in mine own house, and that most 
beastly: in good faith, he cares not what mis- 
iliief he does, if his weapon be out : he will 
foin like any devil ; he will simre neither man, 
woman, nor child. 20 

Fang. If I can close with him, I care not 
for his thrust. 

Host. No, nor I neitlier: I'll he at your 
elbow. 

Fang. An I but fist him once ; an a' come 
but within my vice, — 

Host. I am undone by his going ; I warrant 
you, he's an infinitive thing upon my score. 
Good Master Fang, hold him sure : good Mas- 
ter Snare, let him not 'scape. A' comes con- 
tinuantly to Pie-corner — saving your nuinhoods 
— to buy a saddle ; and he is indited to dinner 
to the Lubber' s-head in Lumbert street, to 
Master Smooth's the silkinan : I pray ye, since 
ray exion is entered and my case so openly 
known to the world, let lum be brought in to 
his answer. A hundred mark is a long one for 
a poor lone woman to bear: and I have borne, 
and borne, and borne, and have been fubbed 
off, and fubbed off. and fubbed oft, from tliis 
day to that day, that it isa shame to be thought 
on. There is no iioncsty in such dealing ; un- 
less a woman should be made an ass and a 
beast, to bear every knave's wrong. Yonder 
be comes ; and tiiat arrant raahnsey-nose 
knave, Bardolph, with hiiu. Do your offices, 
do your offices ; blaster Fang and Master 
Snare, do me, do me, do me your offices. 

Enter Falstaff, Page, and Bardolph. 

Fal. How now ! whose mare's dead ? what's 
the matter ? 

Fang. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of 
Mistress Quickly. 49 

Fal. Away, variety ! Draw. Bardolph: cut 
me off the villain's head : throw the quean in 
the channel. 

Host. Throw rae in the channel ! Pll throw 
thee in the channel. Wilt thou ? wilt thou ? 
thou bastardly rogue ! Murder, murder ! Ah, 
thou honey-snckle villain ! wilt thou kill God's 
officers and the king's ? Ah, thou honey-seed 
rogue ! thou art a honey-seed, a mau-queller, 
and a woman-queller. 

Fal. Keep them off, Bardolph. 60 

Fang. A rescue ! » rescue 1 



Host. Good people, bring a rescue or two. 
Thou wo't, wo't thou ? thou wo't "vvo't ta ? do, 
do, thou rogue ! do, thou hemp-seed ! 

Fal. Away, you scullion ! yon rampallion .' 
you fustilarian ! I'll tickle your catastrophe. 

Enter the Lord Chief-Justice, and his men. 

Ch. Jast. What is the matter ? keep the 
peace here, ho ! 

Host. Good my lord, be good to me. I be- 
seech you, stand to me. 70 

Ch. JuM. How now. Sir John ! what are 
you brawling here ? 
Doth this become your i>lace, your time and 

business ? 
You should have been well on your way t<j 

York. 
Stand from him, fellow : wherefore hang'st 
upon him ? 

Host. O most worshipful lord, an't please 
your grace, I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, 
and he is arrested at my suit. 

Ch. Just. For w hat sum ? 

Host. It is more than for some, my lord ; it 
if for all, all I have. He hath eaten me out of 
house and home ; he hath put all my substtvuce 
into that fat belly of his : but I will have some 
of it out again, or I will lide thee o' nights like 
the mare. 

Fal. I think I am as like to ride the mare, 
if I have any vantage of ground to get up. 

Ch. Just. How comes this. Sir John ? Fie* 
what man of good temper would endure tliis 
tempest of exclamation ? Are you not asliamed 
to enforce a poor widow to so rough a coiu-se 
to come by her own ? IX) 

Fal. What is the gross sum that I owe 
thee? 

Host. iMarrj', if thou wert an honest man, 
thyself and the money too. Thou didst swear 
t<i me upon a parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in my 
Dolphin-chamber, at the roimd table, by a sea- 
coal fire, upon Wednesday in Wheesou week, 
when the prince broke thy head for likmg his 
fatiier to a singing-inau of Wind.sor, thou didst 
swear to me then, as I was washing thy wound, 
to marry me and make me my lady thy wife. 
Canst thou deny it ? Did not goodwife Keech, 
the butcher's wife, come in then and call me 
gossip Quickly ? coming in to borrow a mess 
of vinegar ; telling us she luid a good dish of 
pi-awns ; whereby thou didst desire to eat some ; 
whereby I told thee they were ill for a green 
wound ? And didst thou not, when she was 
gone down stfiirs, desire me to be no more so 
familiarity with such jioor people ; saying tiiat 
ere long they should call me m:idam ? And 
didst thou not kiss me and bid me fetch thee 
thirty shillings ? I put thee now to thy book- 
oath": deny it. if thou canst. 

Fal. My lord, this is a poor mad soul ; and 
she says up and down the town that the eldest 
son is like you : she hath been in good ca.se, 
and the truth is, poverty hath di.stracted her. 
But for these foolish officers, I beseech you I 
may have redress i^gai^gt them. 



422 



KING HENRY IV. PART II: 



[Act it. 



Ch. Just. Sir John, Sir John, I am well 
iacqaainted with your manner of wrenching the 
true cause the false way. It is not a confident 
brow, nor the throng of words that come with 
such more than impudent sauciness from you, 
can thrust me from a level consideration : you 
have, as it appears to me, practised upon the 
easy-yielding spirit of this woman, and made 
lier serve your uses botli in purse and in per- 
son. 

Host. Yea, in truth, my lord. 

Ch. Just. Pray thee, peace. Pay her the 
debt you owe her, and unpay the villauy you 
liave done her: the one you may do with ster- 
ling money, and the other with current repent- 
ance. 

Fal. My lord, I vsdll not undergo this sneap 
without reply. You call honorable boldness 
impudent sauciness : if a man will make cour- 
tesy and say nothing, he is virtuous : no, my 
lord, my humble duty remembered, I will not 
be your suitor. I say to you, I do desire de- 
liverance from these officers, being upon hasty 
em|)loyment in the king's affairs. 140 

Ch. Just. You speak as having power to do 
wrong : but answer in tlie effect of your rep- 
utation, and satisfy tlie poor woman. 

Fal. Come hither, hostess. 

Enter Gower. 

Ch. Just. Now, Master Gower, what news? 

Goto. Tiie king, my lord, and Harry Prince 
of Wales 
Are near at hand : the rest the i^aper tells 

Fal. As I am a gentleman. 

Ho.st. Faith, you said so before. 

Fal. As I am a gentleman. Come, no more 
words of it. 151 

Ilo.st. By this heavenly ground I tread on, I 
must be fain to pawn both my plate and the 
ta[)e^try of my dining-chambers. 

Fal. Glasses, glasses is the only drinking : 
and for tliy walls, a pretty slight drollery, or 
the story of the Prodigal, or the German liunt- 
iuLi in water- work, is worth a thousand of tliese 
bed-hangings and tliese fly-bitten tapestries. 
Let it be ten pound, if thou canst. Come, an 
'twere not for thy humors, there's not a bet- 
ter weuch in England. Go, wash thy face, and 
draw tlie action. Come, thou must not be in 
this humor with me; dost not know me ? come, 
couie, I know tiiou wast set on to this. 

Host. Pray thee, Sir John, let it be but 
twenty nobles : i' faith, I am loath to pawn 
my phite, so God save me, la ! 

Fal. Let it alone ; I'll make other shift : 
you'll be a fool still. 170 

Host. Well, you shall have it, though I iiawn 
my gown. I hojie you'll come to supper. You'll 
jjay me all together ? 

Fal. Will 1 live ? [To Bardolph] Go, with 
her, with her ; hook on, hook on. 

Host. Will you have Doll Tearsheet meet 
you at supper ? 

Fal. No more words ; let's have her. 
[Exeunt Hostess, han'dolph, QffiGers and Boy, 



Ch. Just. I have heard better news. 

Fal. What's the news, my lord ? 180 

Ch. Just. Where lay the king last night ? 

Goio. At Basingstoke, my lord. 

Fal. I hope, my lord, all's well : what is 
the news, my lord ? 

Ch. Just. Come all his forces back ? 

Gow. No ; fifteen hundred foot, five hun- 
dred horse. 
Are marched up to my lord of Lancaster, 
Against Northumberland and the Archbishop. 

Fal. Comes the king back from Wales, my 
noble lord ? 

Ch. Just. You shall have letters of me pres- 
ently: liK) 
Come, go along with me, good Master Gower. 

Fai. My lord ! 

Ch. Jti.st. Wliat's the matter ? 

Fal. Master Gower, shall I entreat you with 
me to diimer ? 

Gow. I must wait upon my good lord here; 
I thank you. good Sir John. 

Ch. Just. Sir John, you loiter here too long, 
being you afe to take soldiers up in counties 
as you go. 200 

Fal. Will you sup with me. Master Gower? 

Ch. Just. What foolish master taught you 
these manners. Sir John ? 

Fal. Master Gower, if they become me not, 
he was a fool that taught them me. This is the 
right fencing grace, my lord ; tap for tap, and 
so part fair. 

Ch. Ju,it. Now the Lord lighten thee ! thou 
art a great fool. [Exeimt. 

Scene IL London. Another street. 
Enter Prince Henry and Poins. 

Prince. Before God, I am exceeding weary. 

Poins. Is't come to that ? I had thought 
weariness durst not have attached one of so 
high blood. 

Prince. Faith, it does me ; though it dis- 
colors the complexion of my greatness to ac- 
knowledge it. Doth it not show vilely in me 
to desire small beer ? 

Poins. Why, a prince should not be so 
loosely studied as to remember so weak a com- 
position. 

Prince. Belike then my appetite was not 
princely got ; for, by my troth, I do now re- 
member the poor creature, small beer. But, 
indeed, these humble considerations make me 
out of love with my greatness- What a dis- 
grace is it to me to remember thy name ! or to 
know thy face to-morrow ! or to take note hovr 
m;iny pair of silk stockings thou hast, viz. these^ 
and tJiose that were thy peach-colored ones! 
or to bear the inventory of thy shirts, as, one 
for superfluity, and another for use ! But that 
the tennis-court-keeper knows better than I ; 
for it is a low ebb of linen with thee when thou 
keepest not racket there; as thou hast not done 
a great while, because the rest of thy low coun- 
tiies have made a shift to eat up thy holland : 
and God knows, whether those that bawl out 



Scene ii.] 



KING HENRY IV. PART IT. 



4S8 



the ruins of thy linen shall inherit his king- 
dom : but the midwives say the children are 
not in the fault; whereupon the world mcreases, 
and kindreds are mightily strengthened. 

Poins. How ill it follows, after you have 
labored so hard, you should tallv so idly! Tell 
nie, how niauy good young princes would do 
so, tlieir fathers being so sick as yours at this 
time is ? 

Prince. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins ? 

Poins. Yes, faith ; and let it be an excellent 
good thing. 

Prince. It shall serve among wits of no 
higher breeding than thine. 

Poins. Go to ; I stand the push of your one 
thing that you will tell. 41 

Prince. Marry, I tell thee, it is not meet 
that I sliould be sad, now my father is sick : 
albeit I could tell thee, as to one it pleases me, 
for fault of a better, to call my friend, I could 
be sad, and sad indeed too. 

Poins. Very hardly upon such a subject. 

Prince. By this hand, thou thinkest me as 
far in the devil's book as thou and Faistaff for 
obduracy and persistency : let the end try the 
man. But 1 tell thee, my heart bleeds inwardly 
that my father is so sick: and keeping such vile 
comiiany as thou art hath in reason taken from 
me all ostentation of sorrow. 

Piiins. The reason ? 

Prince. What wouldst thou think of me, if 
I should weei) ? 

I'liins. I would think thee a most princely 
hypocrite. 59 

Prince. It would be every man's thought ; 
and thou art a bles.sed fellow to think as every 
man tliiuiis : never a num's thought in the 
world keeps the road-way better than thine : 
every man would think me an hypocrite in- 
deed. And what accites your most worshipful 
thought to think so ? 

Poins. Why, because you have been so lewd 
and so much engraffed to Faistaff. 

Prince. And to thee. 

Poins. By this liglit, I am well spoke on ; 
I can hear it with my own ears: the worst that 
they can say of me is that 1 am a second 
Inother and that 1 am a proper fellow of my 
hands ; and tliose two things, I confess, I 
cannot help. By the mass, here comes Bar- 
doli)h. 

Enter B.vrdolph and Page. 

Prince. And the boy that I gave Faistaff : 
a' liad him from me (jlnistiau ; and look, if 
the fai villain have nut transformed him ape. 

Bard. God save your grace ! 

Prince. And yours, most noble Bardolph ! 

Bard. Come, you virtuous ass, you bashful 
fool, must you be blusliing ? wherefore blush 
yon now ? Wliat a maidenly man-at-arms are 
you become ! Is't such a matter to get a pottle- 
pot's maidenhead ? 

Paf/e. A' calls me e'en now, my lord, 
through a red lattice, and I could discern no 
part of his lac« from the wiaaow : at last I I 



spied his eyes, and methought he had made 
two holes in the ale-wife's new petticoat and 
so peeped through. 

Prince. Has not the boy profited ? 90 

Bard. Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, 
away ! 

Page. Away, you rascally Althaea's dream, 
away ! 

Prince. Instruct us, boy ; what dream, 
boy ? 

Page. Marry, my lord, Althaea dreamed 
she was delivered of a fire-brand ; and there- 
fore I call liim her dream. 

Prince. A crown's worth of good interpre- 
tation : there 'tis, boy. 100 

Poins. O. that this good blossom could be 
kept from cankers ! Well, there is sixpence to 
preserve thee. 

Bard. An you do not make him hanged 
among you, the gallows shall have wrong. 

Prince. And how doth thy master, Bar- 
dolph ? 

Bard. Well, my lord. He heard of your 
grace's coming to town : there's a letter for 
you. 

Poins. Delivered with good respect. And 
how doth the niartlemas, your master ? 110 

Bard. In bodily health, sir. 

Poins. Marry, the innnortal part needs a 
physician ; but that moves not him : though 
that be sick, it dies not. 

Prince. I do allow this wen to be as famil- 
iar with me as my dog ; and he holds his 
place ; for look you how he writes. 

Poins. [Reads] ' John Faistaff, knight.' — 
every ruan must know that, as oft as he has 
occasion to name himself : even like those that 
are kin to the king ; for they never prick their 
finger but they say, ' There's some of the 
king's blood spilt.' ' How comes that ? ' says 
he, that takes upon him not to conceive. The 
answer is as ready as a borrower's cap, ' I am 
the king's poor cousin, sir.' 

Prince. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they 
will fetch it from Japhet. But to the letter : 

Poins. [Beads'] ' Sir Jolm Faistaff, knight, 
to the son of the king, nearest his lather, Har- 
ry Prince of Wales, greeting.' Why, this is a 
certificate. 

Prince. Peace ! 

Poins. [Beads] ' I will imitate the honor- 
able Romans in brevity : ' he sure means bre- 
vity in breath, short-winded. ' I connnend me 
to thee, I commend thee, and I leave thee. Be 
not too familiar with Poins ; for lie misuses 
thy favors so much, that he swears thou art to 
marry his sister Nell. Repent at idle times as 
thou mayest ; and so, farewell. 141 

' "Thine, by yea and no, which is as 
much as to say, as thou usest him, 
Jack Falstaff with my familiars, 
John with my brothers and sisters, 
and SiK John with all Europe.' 
My lord, I'll steej) this letter in sack and make 
him eat it. 
Pnn<x. Tltat's to make liim eat twenty of 



424 



KING HENRY IV. PART II. 



[Act II. 



his words. But do you use me thus, Ned ? 
must I marry your sister ? 151 

Poins. God send the wenoh no worse for- 
tune ! But I never said so. 

Prince. Well, thus we play the fools with 
the time, and the spirits of the wise sit in the 
clouds and mock us. Is your master here in 
London ? 

Bard. Yea, my lord. 

Prinre. Where sups he ? doth the old boar 
feed in the old frank ? 160 

Bard. At the old place, my lord, iu East- 
cheap. 

Prince. What company ? 

Pcuje. Ephesians, my lord, of the old church. 

Prince. Sup any women with him ? 

Parje. None, my lord, but old Mistress 
Quickly and Mistress Doll Tearsheet. 

Prince. What pagan may that be ? 

Page. A jmiper gentlewoman, sir, and a 
kinswoman of my master's. 170 

Prince. Even such khi as the parish heifers 
are to the town bull. Shall we steal upon them, 
Ned, at supper? [low you. 

Poins. I am your shadow, my lord ; I'll fol- 

Prince. Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no 
■word to your master tliat I am yet come to 
town : there's for your silence. 

Bard. I have no tongue, sir. 

Page. And for mine, sir, I will govern it. 180 

Prince. Fare you well ; go. \_Exeunt Bar- 
dolph and Page.] This Doll Tearsheet shoidd 
be some road. 

Poin.'i. I warrant you, as common as the 
way between Saint Albau's and London. 

Prince. How might we see Falstaff bestow 
himself to-night in his true colors, and not our- 
selves be seen ? 

Poin.s. Put on two leathern jerkins and 
aprons, and wait upon him at his table as 
drawers. 191 

Prince. From a God to a bull ? a heavy 
descension ! it was Jove's case. From a prince 
to a prentice ? a low transformation! that shall 
be mine ; for in every thing the i)urpose must 
weigh with the folly. Follow me, Ned. 

lExeunt. 

Scene IIL Warkworth. Before the castle. 

Enter Northumberland, Lady Northtjm- 
BEitLAND, and Lady Percy. 

Worth. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle 
daughter, 
Give even way unto my rough affairs : 
Put not you on the visage of the times 
And be like them to Percy troublesome. 
Ladg N. I have given over, I will speak no 
more : 
Do what you will ; your wisdom be your 
guide. 
North. Alas, sweet wife, my honor is at 
pawn ; 
And, but my going, nothing can redeem it. 
Lady P. O yet, for God's sake, go not to 
these wars I 



The time was, father, that you broke your 

word, 10 

When you were more endeared to it than now; 
When your own Percy, when my heart's dear 

Harry, 
Threw many a northward look to see his 

father 
Bring up his powers ; but he did long iu vain. 
Who then persuaded you to stay at home ? 
There were two honors lost, yours and your 

son's. 
For yours, the God of heaven brighten it ! 
For his, it stuck upon liim as the sun 
In the grey vault of heaven, and by his light 
Did all the chivalry of England move 20 

To do brave acts : he was indeed the glass 
Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves: 
He had no legs that practised not his gait ; 
And speaking thick, Avhich nature made his 

blemish. 
Became the accents of the valiant ; 
For those tliat could speak low and tardily 
Would turn their own perfection to abuse. 
To seem like him : so that in speech, in gait, 
In diet, in affections of delight. 
In military rules, humors of blood, 30 

He was the mark and glass, copy and book, 
That fashion'd others. And him, O won- 
drous him ! 
O miracle of men ! him did you leave, 
Second to none, unseconded by you. 
To look upon the liideeus god of war 
In disadvantage ; to abide a field 
Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's 

name 
Did seem defensible : so you left him. 
Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong 
To hold your honor more precise and nice 48 
With others than with him ! let them alone : 
The marshal and the archbishop are strong: 
Had my sweet Harry had but half their num- 
bers. 
To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck, 
Have talk'd of Monmouth's gi-ave. 

North. Beshrew your heart, 

Fair daughter, you do draw my spirits from 

me 
With new lamenting ancient oversights. 
But I nmst go and meet with danger there, 
Or it will seek me another place 
And find me worse provided. 

Lady N. O, fly to Scotland, 50 

Till that the nobles and the armed commons 
Have of their puissance made a little taste. 
lyudy P. If they get ground and vantage 

of the king, 
Then join you with them, like a rib of steel, 
To make strength stnmger; but, for all our 

loves, 
First let them try themselves. So did your 

son ; 
He was so suffer'd : so came I a widow ; 
And never shall have length ai life enough 
To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes, 
That it may grow and sprout as high as 

lieaveu, 60 



Scene it.] 



ING HENRY IV. PART 11. 



421: 



For recordation to my noble husband. 
North. Coiiie, come, go in witli me. 'Tis 
with my mind 
As with the tide swell'd up unto his height, 
That makes a still-stand, running neither vi&y: 
Fain would I go to meet the archbishoi). 
But many thousand reasons hold me back. 
I will resolve lor Scotland : there am I, 
Till time and vantage crave my company; 

\_Excunt. 

Scene IV. London. The Boar' s-head Tavern 
in Eastcheap. 

Enter two Drawers. 

First Draw. What the devil hast thou 
brought there ? apple-jolnis ? thou knowest 
Sir John cannot endure an api)le-john. 

Sec. Draw. Mass, thou sayest true. The 
j)rince once set a dish of apple-johns before 
him, and told iiim there were tive more Sir 
Johns, and, putting off his hat, .said ' I will now 
take my leave of these six dry, round, old, 
withered knights.' It angered him to the 
heart : but he hath forgot that. 10 

First Draw. Why, then, cover, and set theni 
down : and see if thou canst find out Snealc's 
noise ; Mistress Tearsheet would fain hear 
some music. Dispatch : the room where they 
supped is too hot ; they'll come in straight. 

Sec. Draw. Sirrah, here wiJl be the prince 
and Master Poins anon ; and they will put on 
two of our jcrkms and aprons ; and Sir John 
must not know of it : Bardolph hath brought 
word. 20 

First Draw. By the mass, here will be old 
Utis : it will be an excellent stratagem . 

.S'ec. Draw. I'll see if I can find out Sueak. 

{Exit. 
Enter Hostess and Doll Tearsheet. 

Host. V faith, sweetheart, methinks now 
you are in an excellent good temperality : your 
pulsidge beats as extraordinarily as heait 
would desire ; and your color, I warrant yoa, 
is as red as any rose, in good truth, la ! But, 
i' faith, you have drunk too much canaries ; 
and that's a marvellous searching wine, and it 
perfumes the blood ere one can say ' What's 
this ? ' How do you now ? 

Dol. Better than I was : hem ! 

Host. VViiy, that's well said ; a good heart's 
worth gold. Lo, here comes Sir John. 
Enter Fal.staff. 

Fnl. [Singinrj] ' When Arthur firstiii court,' 
—Empty the Jordan. [Exit First Drawer.^ — 
[Sinf/iuf/^i ' And was a worthy king.' How 
now, Mi^trcss Doll ! 

Host. Sick of a calm ; yea, good faith. 40 

Fal. So is all her sect ; an they be once iu 
a calm, they are sick. 

Dol. You muddy rascal, is that all the 
comfort you give me ? 

Fal. You make fat rascals, Mistress Doll. 

Dol. I make tlieui ! gbittouy and diseases 
mak^ them ; 1 umke them ouU 



Fal. If the cook help to make the gluttony, 
you help to make the diseases, Doll : we catch 
of you, Doll, we catch of you ; grant that, my 
poor virtue, grant that. 51 

Dol. Yea, joy, our chains and our jewels. 

Fal. ' Your brooches, pearls, and ouches : ' 
for to serve bravely is to come halting off, you 
know : to come off the breach with his pike 
bent bravely, and to surgery bravely ; to 
venture upcm the charged cliam'bers bravely, — 

Dol. Hang yourself, you nnuldy conger, 
hang yourself ! 5<) 

Host. By my trotli, this is the old fasliiou ; 
you two never nu;et but you tall to .some dis- 
cord : you are both, i' good truth, as rheumatic 
as two dry toa.sts; you cannot one bear with 
another's confirmities. Wluit the good-year ! 
one uuist bear, and that nuist be you : you 
are the weaker vessel, as they say, the emptier 
vessel. 

Dol. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a 
huge full hogshead ? there's a whole mer- 
chant's venture of Bourdeau.x stuff in him ; 
you have not seen a hulk Ijetter stuffed in the 
hold. Come, I'll be friends with thee. Jack : 
thou art going to the wars ; and whetlier I 
shall ever see thee again or no, there is nobody 
cares. 

Re-enter First Drawer. 

First Draio. Sir, Ancient Pistol's below, 
and would speak with you. 

Dol. Hang him, swaggering rascal ! let 
him not come hither : it is the foul-mouthed' st 
rogue in England. 

Host. If he swagger, let him not come here : 
no, by my faith ; I must live among my neigh- 
bors : I'll no swaggerers : I am in good name 
and fame with the very best : shut tlie door ; 
theie comes no swaggerers here : J have not 
lived all tliis while, to have swaggering now : 
siuit the door, 1 pray you. 

Fal. Dost thou hear, hostess ? 

Host. Pray ye, pacify yourself. Sir John : 
there comes no swaggerers here. 

Fal. Do.st thou hear ? it is mine ancient. 

Host. Tilly-fally, Sir John, ne'er tell me : 
your ancient swaggerer comes not in my doors. 
i was before Master Tisick, the debuty, t'otlier 
day ; and, as he said to me, 'twas no longer 
ago than Wednesday last, ' 1' good faith, 
neighbor Quickly,' says he ; Master Dtimbe, 
our minister, was by then ; ' neighbor Quick- 
ly,' says he, 'receive those that are civil ; for,' 
.said lie, ' you are in an ill name : ' now a' said 
so, I can tell whereupon ; ' for,' says he, ' you 
are an honest woman, and well thought on ; 
therefore take lieed what guests you receive : 
receive,' says he, ' no swaggering compan- 
ions.' There comes none here : yon would 
bless you to hear what he said : no, I'll no 
swaggerers. 

Fal. He's no swaggerer, hostess ; a tame 
cheater, i' faith ; you may stroke him as 
gently as a ))Ui>py greyhound : he'll not swag- 
ger with a Baibavy hen, if her feathers turn 



426 



KING HENBY TV. PART 11. 



[Act ir. 



back in any show of resistance. Call him up, 
drawer. \^Exit First Drawer. 

Host. Cheater, call you hiiu ? I will bar 
no honest man my house, nor no cheater : but 
I do nut love swaggering, by my troth ; I am 
tlie worse, when one says swagger : feel, 
masters, how I shake ; look you, 1 warrant 
you. 

Dot. So j'ou do, hostess. 

Host. Do I ? yea, in very truth, do I, an 
' twere an aspen leaf : I cannot abide swag- 
gerers. 

Enter Pistol, Bardolph, and Page. 

Fist. God save you. Sir John ! 11!) 

Fal. Welcome, Ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, 
I charge you with a cup of sack : do you dis- 
charge upon mine hostess. 

Pist. 1 will discharge upon her. Sir John, 
with two bullets. 

Fal. She is jjistol-proof, sir ; jou shall 
hardly offend her. 

Host. Come, Fll drink no proofs nor no 
bullets : I'll drink no more than will do me 
good, for no man's pleasure, I. 

Pist. Then io you. Mistress Dorothy ; I 
will charge you. 131 

Dol. Charge me ! I scorn you, scurvy com- 
panion. What ! you poor, base, rascally, 
cheating, laulc-linen nuite ! Away, you mouldy 
rogue, away ! I am meat for your master. 

Pist. I know you, Mistress Dorothy. 

Dol. Away, you cut-i)urse rascal ! you 
filthy bung, away ! by this wine, I'll thrust 
my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play 
the saucy cuttle witli me. Away, you bottle- 
ale rascal ! you basket-hilt stale juggler, you! 
Since when, I pray you, sir ? God's light, with 
two points on your shoulder ? much ! 

Pist. God let me not live, but I will murder 
your ruff for this. 

Fal. No more, Pistol ; I would not have 
you go off here : discharge yourself of our 
company, Pistol. 

Host. No, Good Captain Pistol ; not here, 
bweet cajitain. 1.50 

Dol. Captain ! thou abominable damned 
cheater, art thou not ashamed to be called 
captain ? An captains were of my mind, they 
would truncheon you out, for taking their 
names upon you before j'ou have earned thein. 
You a captain ! you shue, for what ? for 
tearing a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-house? 
He a captain ! hang him, rogue ! he lives 
upon mouldy stewed prunes and dried cakes. 
A captain 1 God's light, these villains will 
make the word as odious as the word ' occupy ; ' 
which was an excellent good word before it 
was ill sorted : therefore captains had need 
look to't. 

Bard. Vmy thee, go down, good ancient. 

Fal. Hark thee hither. Mistress Doll. 

Pist Not I : I tell thee what. Corporal 
Bardolph I could tear her : I'll be revenged 
of her. 

jP^e, Pray thee, go dowa 



Pist. I'll see her damned first ; to Pluto s 
damned lake, by tliis hand, to the inferuai 
deep, Avith Erebus and tortures vile also. Hold 
hook and line, say I. Down, down, dogs ! 
down, faitors ! Have we not Hiren here ? 

Host. Good Captain Peesel, be quiet ; 'tis 
very late, i' faith : I beseek you now, aggra- 
vate your choler. 

Pi.-it. These be good humors, indeed ! Shall 
pack-horses 
.\nd hollow pamper'd jades of Asia, 
Wliieli cannot go but thirty mile a-day. 
Compare with C;esars, and with Caimibals, 
And Troian Greeks ? nay, rather damn them 
with 181 

King Cerberus ; and let the welkin roar. 
Shall we fall foul for toys ? 

Host. By my troth, captain, these are verj' 
bitter words. 

Bard. Be gone, good ancient : this will 
grow to a brawl anon. 

Pist, Die men like dogs ! give crowns like 
pins ! Have we not Hiren here ? 189 

Host. 0' my word, captain, there's none 
such here. What the good-year ! do you 
think I would deny her ? For God's sake, ba 
quiet. 

Pist. Then feed, and be fat, my fair Calip- 
olis. 
Come, give's some sack. 
' Si fortune me tormente, sperato me cou- 

tento.' 
Fear we broadsides? no, let the fiend give 

fire : 
Give me some sack : and, sweetheart, lie thou 
there. [Layinc/ doivn his sivord. 

Come we to full points here ; and are etceteras 
nothing ? 

Fal. Pistol, I would be quiet. 

Pist. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neif : what .' 
we have seen the seven stars. 201 

Dol. For God's sake, thrust him down 
stairs : I cannot endure such a fustian rascal. 

Pist. Thrust him down stairs ! know we 
not Galloway nags ? 

Fal. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a 
phove-groat shilling : nay, an a' do nothing 
but speak nothhig, a' shall be nothing here. 

Bard. (Jome, get you down stairs. 209 

Pist. What ! shall we have incision ? shall 

we imbrue ? [Smitching tip his sword. 

Then death rock me asleep, abridge my dole- 

• f ul days ! 
Why, then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping 

wounds 
Untwine the Sisters Three ! Come, Atropos, I 
say ! 

HM. Here's goodly stuff toward ! 

Fal. Give me my rapier, boy. 

Dol. I pray tliee. Jack, I pray thee, do not 
draw. 

Fal. Get you dowa stairs. 

[Drawini:/, and driving PLitol out 

Host. Here's a goodly tumult ! Ill for- 
swear keeping house, afore I'll be in these 
tirrits and frights. So ; murder, I warrant, 



Scene iv.] 



KTNG HENRY IV. PART IT. 



427 



now, Alas, alas ! put up yoiu- naked weapons, 
put up your naked weapons. 

[Exeunt Pistol and Bardolph. 

Dol. I pray thee, Jack, be quiet ; the 
rascal's gone. Ah, you whoreson little valiant 
viUaiu, you ! . 

Host. Are j'ou not hurt i' the groin ? me- 
thoughta' made a shrewd thrust at your belly. 

Re-enter Bardolph. 

Fed Have you turned hiui out o' doors ? 

Bard. Yea, sir. The rascal's drunk : you 
have hurt liiin, sir, i' the shoulder. 231 

Fal. A rascal ! to brave me ! 

Dol. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you ! Alas, 
poor ape, how thou sweatest! come, let me wipe 
thy face ; come on, you whoreson chops : ah, 
rogue ! i' faith, I love thee : thou art as valor- 
ous as Hector of Troy, worth five of Agamem- 
non, and ten times better than the Nine 
Wortliies : ah, villain ! 

Fal. A rascally slave ! I will toss the rogue 
in a blanket. 241 

Dol. Do, an thou darest for thy heart : an 
thou dost, I'll canvass thee between a pair of 
sheets 

Enter Music. 

Page. The music is come, sir. 

Fill. Let them play. Play, sirs. Sit on my 
knee, Doll. A rascal bragging slave ! the rogue 
Hed from me like quicksilver. 

Dol. ' V faith, and thou followedst him like 
a church. Thou whoreson little tidy Barth- 
olomew boar-pig, when wilt thou leave fight- 
ing o' days and foining o' nights, and begin to 
patcli up thine old body for heaven ? 

Enter, behind, Prince Henrv a«cZ Poins, dis- 
guised. 

Fal. Peace, good Doll ! do not speak like 
a death's-head ; do not bid me remember mine 
end. 

Dol. Sirrah, what hiunor's the prince of ? 

Fal. A good shallow young fellow : a' would 
have made a good pautler, a' would ha' chip- 
ped bread well. 

Dol. They say Poins has a good wit. 260 

Fal. He a good wit? hang him, baboon ! 
his wit's as thick as Tewksbury mustard ; 
there's no more conceit in him than is in a 
mallet. [then ? 

Dol. Why does the prince love him so, 

Fal. Because their legs are both of a 
bigness, and a' plays at quoits well, and eats 
conger and fennel, and drinks off candles' 
ends for flap-dragons, and rides the wild-mare 
with the boys, and jumps upon joined-stools, 
and swears witli a good grace, and wears his 
boots very smooth, like unto the sign of the 
l«g, and breeds no bate with telling of discreet 
stories ; and such other gambol faculties »' 
has, that show a weak mind and an able body, 
for the which the prince admits him : for the 
prince himself is such another ; the weight of 
a hair will turn tlj§ 9calea betwew tbeir 
av*ir4u9eia. 



Prince. Would not this nave of a wheel 
have his ears cut off ? 279 

Poins. Let's beat him before his whore. 

Prince. Look, whether the withered elder 
hath not his poll clawed like a parrot. 281 

Poins. Is it not strange that desire should 
so many years outlive performance ? 

Fal. Kiss me, Doll. 

Prince. Saturn aud Venus this year in 
conjunction ! what says the almanac to that? 

Poins. And look, whether the fiery Trigon, 
his man, be not lisping to his master's old 
tiibles, his note-book, his coimsel-keeper. 290 

Fal. Thou dost give me flattering busses. 

Dol. By my troth, I kiss thee with a most 
constant heart. 

Fal. I am old, I am old. 

Dol. I love thee better than I love e'er a 
scurvy young boy of them all. 

Fal. What stuff wilt have a kirtle of ? I 
shall receive money o' Thursday : shalt have a 
cap to-morrow. A merry song, come : it grows 
late ; we'll to bed. Thou' It forget me when I 
am gone. 

Dol. By my troth, thou'lt set me a-weep- 
iug, an thou sayest so : prove that ever I dress 
myself liaudsome till thy return : well, barken 
at the end. 

Fal. Some sack, Francis. 

PohlT' \ ^^^^> a"0"i sir. [Coming /o7-ioard. 

Fal. Ha! a bastard son of tlie king's ? And 
art not thou Poins his brother ? 

Prince. Why, thou globe of sinful conti- 
nents, what a life dost thou lead ! 310 

Fal. A better than thou : I am a gentle- 
man; thou art a drawer. 

Prince. Very true, sir; and I come to draw 
you out by the ears. 

Host. O, the Lord preserve thy good grace! 
by my troth, welcome to Loudon. Now, the 
Lord bless tliat sweet face of thine ! O Jesu, 
are you come from Wales ? 

Fal. Thou whoreson mad compound of 
majesty, by this light llesh aud corrupt blood, 
thou art welcome. 321 

Dol. How, you fat fool .' I scorn you. 

Poins. My lord, he Avill drive you out of 
your revenge and turn all to a merriment, if 
you take not tlie heat. 

Pri)ice. You whoreson candle-mine, you, 
liow vilelj' did you speak of me even now be- 
fore this honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman !■ 

Host. God's blessing of your good heart ! 
and so she is, by my troth. 330 

Fal. Didst t'houhear me ? 

Prince. Yea, and you knew me, as you did 
when you ran away by Gad's-hill : you knew I 
was at your back, and spoke it on purpose to 
try my patience. 

Fal. No, no, no ; not so ; I did not think 
thou wast within hearing. 

Prince. I shall drive you then to confess the 
wilful abuse ; and then I know how to handle 
you. [abuse. 

Fal> No abuse, Hal, o' mine honor ; no 



428 



KING HENRY IV. PART II. 



[Act 111. 



Prince. Not to dispraise me, and call me 
pantler and biead-cliipper and I know not 
what ? 

Fal. No abuse, Hal. 

Poins. No abuse ? 

Fal. No abuse, Ned, i' the world ; honest 
Ned, none. I dispraised him before the wick- 
ed, that the wicked might not fall in love with 
him ; in which doing, I have done the part of 
a careful friend and a true subject, and thy 
father is to give me thanks for it. No abuse, 
Hal : none, Ned, none : no, faith, boys, none. 

Prince. See now, whether pure fear and 
entire cowardice doth not make thee wrong 
this virtuous gentlewoman to close with us ? 
is she of the wicked ? is thine hostess here of 
ihe wicked ? or is thy boy of the wicked ? or 
honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in his nose, 
of the wicked ? 

Poins. Answer, thou dead elm, answer. 

Fal. The lieud hath i)ricked down Bar- 
doloh irrecoverable ; and liis face is Lucifer's 
privy-kitchen, where he dotli notliing but 
roast malt-worms. For the boy, there is a 
good angel about him ; but the devil outbids 
him too. 

Prince. For tlie women ? 

Fal. For one of them, she is in hell already, 
and burns poor souls. For the other, I owe 
her money ; and whether she be damned for 
that, I know not. 

Host. No, I warrant you. 369 

Fal. No, I think thou art not ; I think thou 
art quit for tliat. Marry, there is another 
indictment upon tliee, for suffering flesh to be 
eaten in thy house, contrary to the law ; for 
the which I think tliou wilt howl. 

Host. All victuallers do so ; what's a joint 
of mutton or two in a whole Lent ? 

Prince- You, gentlewoman, — 

Dol. What says your grace ? 

Fal. His grace says that which his flesh 
rebels against. [Knocking ivithm. 380 

Host. Who knocks so loud at door ? Look 
to the door there, Francis. 

Enter Peto. 

Prince. Peto, how now ! what news ? 
Peto. The king your father is at West- 
minster : 
And there are twenty weak and wearied posts 
Come from the north : and, as I came along, 
I met and overtook a dozen captains, 
Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the tav- 
erns. 
And asking every one for Sir John Falstaff . 
Prince. By heaven, Poins, I feel me much 
to blame, 390 

So idly to profane the precious time. 
When tempest of commotion, like the south 
Borne witli black vapor, doth begin to melt 
And drop upon our bare unarmed heads. 
Give me my sword and cloak. Falstaff, good 
night. [E.teunt Prince Henry, Poins, 
Peto and Bardolph. 

Fal. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of 



the night, and we must hence and leave it un- 
picked. [Knocking within.^ More knocking 
at the door ! 

Re-enter Bardolph. 

How now ! what's the matter ? 400 

Bard. You must away to court, sir, pres- 
ently ; 
A dozen captains stay at door for you. 

Fal. {To.the Page] Pay the musicians, sirrah 
Farewell, hostess ; farewell, Doll. You see, 
my good wenches, how men of merit are 
sought after : the undeserver may sleep, wlien 
the man of action is called on. Farewell, good 
wenches : if I be not sent away post, I will 
see you again ere I go. 

Dol. I cannot speak ; if my heart be not 
ready to burst, — well, sweet Jack, have a cure 
of thyself. 

Fal. Farewell, farewell. 

[Exeunt Falstaff" and Burdol/i/i. 

Host. Well, fare thee well: I have known 
thee these twenty-nine years, come peascod- 
time ; but an honester and truer-hearted man, 
— well, fare thee well. 

Bard. [ir/7/(///l Mistress Tearsheet ! 

Host. What's the matter ? 

Bard. [Wit/tin] Bid Mistress Tearsheet 
come to my master. 419 

Host. O, run, Doll, run ; run, good Doll : 
come. [She comes blubbered.] Yea, will you 
come, Doll ? [Exeunt. 



ACT in. 



Scene L Westminster. The palace. 
Enter ihe King in his nightgown, ivith a Page. 
King. Go call the Earls of Surrey and of 
Warwick ; 
But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these 

letters. 
And well consider of them ; make good sjieed 

[Exit Page. 
How many thousand of my poorest subjects 
Are at this hour asleep ! O sleep, O gentle 

sleep. 
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee, 
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids dowri 
And steep my senses In forgetfulness ? 
Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs. 
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee 10 

And hush'd Avith buzzing night-flies to thy 

slumber. 
Than in the perfumed chambers of the great, 
Under the canopies of costly state. 
And luU'd with sound of sweetest melody ? 
O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile 
In loathsome beds, and leavest the kingly couch 
A watch-case or a common 'larum-bcll ? 
Wilt tliou upon the high and giddy mast 
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his braina 
In cradle of the rude imperious surge 20 

And in the visitation of the winds, 
Who take the rufliaji billows t>y the top. 



Scene ii.] 



KING HENRY IV. PART 11. 



42d 



Curling their monstrous heads and hanging 

them 
With deafening clamor in the slippery clouds, 
That, with the hurly, death itself awakes ? 
Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose 
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude, 
And in the calmest and most stillest night, 
With all appliances and means to boot, 
Deny it to a king ? Then happy low, lie down ! 
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. 31 

Enter Warwick and Surrey. 

War. Many good morrows to your majesty! 

Kiuf/. Is it good morrow, lords ? 

War. 'Tis one o'clock, and past. 

King. Why, then, good morrow to you all, 

my lords. 
Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you? 
War. We have, my liege. 
King. Then you perceive the body of our 

kingdom 
How foul it is ; what rank diseases grow 
And with what danger, near the heart of it. 40 

War. It is but as a body yet distemper'd ; 
Which to his former strength may be restored 
With good advice and little medicine : 
My Lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd. 
King. O God ! that one might read the 

book of fate. 
And see the revolution of the times 
Make mountains level, and the continent. 
Weary of solid firmness, melt itself 
Into the sea ! and, other times, to see 
The beachy girdle of the ocean 50 

Too wide for Neptune's hips ; how chances 

mock. 
And changes fill the cup of alteration 
With divers liquors ! 0, if this were seen. 
The happiest youth, viewing his progress 

through, 
What jierils past, what crosses to ensue, 
Would shut the book, and sit him down and die. 
'Tis not ten years gone 
Since Richard and Northumberland, great 

friends. 
Did feast together, and in two years after 
Were they at wars : it is but eight j-ears since 
This Percy was the man nearest my soul, 61 
Who like a brother tuil'd in my affairs 
And laid his love and life under my foot. 
Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard 
Gave him defiance. But which of you was by — 
You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember — 

[To Waricick. 
When Richard, with his eye brimful of tears. 
Then check'd and rated by Northumberland, 
Did speak these words, now proved a proph- 
ecy ? (Jit 
' Northumberland, thou ladder by the which 
My cousin Bolingbroke as(!ends my throne ; ' 
Thongh then, God knows, I had no such intent. 
But that necessity so bow'd the state 
That 1 and greatness were compell'd to kiss : 
'The time shall come,' thus did he follow it, 
' The time will come, that foul sin, gathering 

bead, 



Shall break into corruption : ' so went on, 
Foretelling this siime time's condition 
And the division of our amity. 

War. There is a history in all men's lives, 
Figuring the nature of the times deceased ; 81 
The which observed, a man may prophesy, 
With a near aim, of the main chance of things 
As yet not come to life, which in their seeds 
And weak beginnings lie intreasured. 
Such things become the hatch and brood of 

time ; 
And by the necessary form of this 
King Richard might create a perfect guess 
That great Northumberland, then false to him, 
Would of that seed grow to a greater falseness; 
AVhich should not find a ground to root upon. 
Unless on you. 

King. Are these things then necessities? 
Then let us meet them like necessities : 
And that same word even now cries out on us: 
They say the bishop and Northumberland 
Are fifty thousand strong. 

War.~ It cannot be, my lord ; 

Rumor doth double, like the voice and echo. 
The numbers of the fear'd. Please it your 

grace 
To go to bed. Upon my soul, my lord, 
The powers that you already have sent forth 
Shall bring this prize in very easily. 101 

To comfort you the more, I have received 
A certain instuice that Glendower is dead. 
Your majesty hath been this fortnight ill. 
And these unseason'd hours perforce must add 
Unto your sickness. 

King. I will take your counsel : 

And were these inward wars once out of hand, 
We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. Gloucestershire. Before Justice 
Shallow's house. 
Enter Shallow and Silence, meeting ; 
Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, Bull- 
calf, a Sei-vant or tivo loith them. 
Shal. Come on, come on, come on, sir ; 
give me your hand, sir, give me your hand, 
sir: an early stirrer, by the rood ! And how 
doth my good cousin Silence ? 
Sil. Good morrow, good cousin Shallow. 
H'hal. And how doth my cousin, your bed- 
fellow ? and your fairest daughter and mine, 
my god-daughter Ellen ? 
Sil. Alas, a black ousel, cousin Shallow ! 9 
Shal. By yea and nay, sir, I dare say my 
cousin Wiliiam is become a good scholar : he 
is at Oxford .still, is he not ? 
Sil. Indeed, sir, to my cost. 
Shal. A' must, then,' to the inns o' court 
shortly. I was once of Clement's Inn, where 
I think they will talk of mad Shallow yet. 

Sil. You were called ' lu.sty Shallow ' then, 
cousin. 

Shal. By the mass, I was called any thing; 
and I would have done any thing indeed too, 
and roundly too. Tht'ie was I, and little John 
Doit of Staffordshire, and black George Baruets, 



430 



ICING SENRY IV. PART II. 



[Act HI. 



and Francis Pickbone, and Will Squele, a Cots- 
wold man ; you had not four such swinge- 
"buclders in all the inns o' court again : and I 
may say to you, we knew where the boua- 
robas were and had the best of them all at 
coramandinent. Then was Jack Falstaff, now 
Sir John, a boy, and page to ThomasMowbray, 
Duke of Noiiollc. 

Sil. This Sir John, cousin, that comes hither 
anon about soldiers? 31 

Shal. The same Sir John, the very same. I 
see him break Skogan'sheadat the court-gate, 
when a' was a crack not thus high : and the 
very same day did I fight witli one Sampson 
Stocklish, a fruiterer, behind Gray's Inn. 
Jesu, Jesu, the mad days that I have spent ! 
and to see how many of my old acquaintance 
are dead ! 

Sil. We shall all follow, cousin. 39 

Shal. Certain, 'tis certain ; very sure, very 
sure : death, as the Psalmist saith, is certain 
to all ; all shall die. How a good yoke of bul- 
locks at Stamford fair ? 

Sil. By my troth, I was not there. 

Shal. Death is certain. Is old Double of 
your town living yet ? 

Sil. Dead, sir. 

Shal. Jesu, Jesu, dead ! a' drew a good 
bow ; and dead ! a' sliot a fine shoot : John a 
Gaunt loved him well, and betted much money 
on his liead. Dead ! a' would have clapped i' 
the clout at twelve score ; and carried you u 
foreliand shaft a fourteen and fourteen and a 
half, that it would have done a man's heart 
good to see. How a score of ewes now ? 

Sil. 'Thereafter as they be : a score of good 
ewes may be worth ten pounds. 

Shal. And is old Double dead ? 

Sil. Here come two of Sir John FalstafE's 
men, as I think. 60 

Enter Bakdolph and one icith him. 

Bard. Good morrow, honest gentlemen : I 
beseech you, which is Justice Shallow ? 

Shal. ' I am Robert Shallow, sir ; a poor es- 
quire of this county, and one of the king's jus- 
tices of the peace : what is your good pleasure 
with me ? 

Bard. My captain, sir, commends him to 
you ; my captain. Sir John Falstaff, a tall 
gentleman, by heaven, and a most gallant 
leader. 

iS7ia7. He greets me well, sir. I knew him 
a good backsword man. How doth the good 
kniglit ? may I ask how my. lady his wife 
doth ? 71 

Bard. Sir, pardon ; a soldier is better accom- 
modated than with a wife. 

Shal. It is well said, in faith, sir ; and it is 
well said indeed too. Better accommodated ! 
it is good ; yea, indeed, is it : good phrases are 
surely, and ever were, very commendable. Ac- 
commodated ! it comes of 'accommodo:' very 
good ; a good phrase. 79 

Bard. Pardon me, sir ; T have heard the 
word. Phrase cail you it ? by this good day, 



I know not the phrase ; but I will maintain the 
word with my sword to be a soldier-like word, 
and a word of exceeding good command, by 
heaven. Accommodated ; that is, when a man 
is, as they say, accommodated ; or when a 
man is, being, whereby a' may be thought to 
be accommodated ; whicii is an excellent 
tiling. 
Shal. It is very just. 89 

Enter Falstaff. 

Look, here comes good Sir John. Give me 
your good hand, give me your worship's good 
hand : by my troth, you like well and bear 
your years very well : welcome, good Sir 
John. 

Fal. I am glad to see you well, good Master 
Robert Shallow : Master Surecard, as I think? 

Shal. No, Sir John ; it is my cousin Silence, 
in commission Avith me. 

Fal. Good Master Silence, it well befits you 
should be of the peace. 

Sil. Your good worship is welcome. 100 

Fal. Fie ! this is hot weather, gentlemen. 
Have you provided me here half a dozen suffi- 
cient men ? 

Shal. Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit ? 

Fal. Let me see them, I beseech you. 

Shal. Where's the roll ? where's the roll ? 
Where's the roll ? Let me see, let me see, let 
me see. So, so, so, so, so, so, so : yea, 
marry, sir : Ralph Mouldy ! Let them appear 
as I call ; let them do so, let them do so. Let 
me see ; where is Mouldy ? Ill 

Moid. Here, an't please you. 

Shal. What think you. Sir John ? a good- 
limbed fellow ; young, strong, and of good 
friends. 

Fal. Is thy name Mouldy ? 

Moid. Yea, an't please you. 

Fal. 'Tis the more time thou wert used. 

Shal. Ha, ha, ha ! most excellent, i' faith ! 
things that are mouldy lack use : very singular 
good ! in faith, well said. Sir John, very well 
said. 120 

Fal. Prick him. 

Moid. I was pricked well enough before, 
an you could have let me alone : my old dame 
will be undone now for one to do her hus- 
bandry and her drudgery : you need not to 
have pricked me ; there are other men fitter 
to go out than I. 

Fal. Go to : peace, Mouldy ; you shall go. 
Mouldy, it is time you were spent. 

Moid. Spent ! 129 

Shal. Peace, fellow, peace ; stand aside r 
know you where you arc ? For the other, Sir 
John : let me see : Simon Shadow ! 

Fal. Yea, marry, let me have him to sit 
under : he's like to'be a cohl soldier. 

Shal. Where's Shadow ? 

Shad. Here, sir. 

Fal. Shadow, whose son art thou ? 

Shad. My mother's son, sir. 

Fal. Thy mother's son ! like enough, and 
thy father's shadow : so the son of the female 



Scene ii-l 



KING HENRY IV. PART IT. 



431 



is the shadow of the male : it is often so, in- 
deed ; but ranch of the father's substance ! 

Shul. Do you like liini, Sir John ? 

Ful. Shadow will serve for summer ; prick 
hini, for we have a number of shadows to fill 
up the muster-book. 

Shal. Thomas ^^^^rt ! 

Fal. Where's he ? 

Wart. Here, sir. 

Fal. Is thy name Wart? 150 

Wart. Yea, sir. 

Fal. Thou art a very ragged wart. 

Slidl. Shall I prick him down, Sir John ? 

Ful. It were superfluous ; for his apparel is 
built upon his ]>ack and the whole frame 
stands uixMi pins : [H'ick him no more. 

,Shal. ILi, ha, ha ! you can do it, sir ; you 
can do ic : 1 commend you well. Francis 
Feeble ! 

Fee. Here, sir, 

Fal. What trade art thou, Feeble ? 160 

Fee. A woman's tailor, sir. 

Shal. Shall 1 prick him, sir ? 

Fal. You nuiy : but if he had been a man's 
tailor, he'ld ha' pricked you. Wilttiiou make 
as many holes in an enemy's battle as thou 
hast done in a woman's petticoat ? 

Fee. I will do my good will, sir ; you can 
have no more. 

Ful. Well said, good woman's tiiilor! well 
said, courageous Feeble ! thou wilt be as vali- 
ant as the wrathful dove or most magnanimous 
mouse. Prick the woman's tailor : well, 
Master Shallow ; deep, Master Shallow. 

Fee. I would Wart might have gone, sir. 

Fal. I would thou wert a man's tailor, that 
thou mightst mend him and make him tit 
to go. I cannot jiut him to a private soldier 
that is the leader of so many thousands : let 
that suffice, most forcible Feeble. 

Fee. It .sliall suffice, sir. 180 

Ful. I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. 
Wlio is next ? 

Shal. Peter Rullcalf o' the green ! 

Fal. Yea, marry, let's see liullcalf. 

Bull. Here. sir. 

Fal. 'Fore God, a likely fellow ! Come, 
prick me BuUcalf till he roar again. 

Dull. O Lord ! good my lord captain, — 

Fdl. What, dost thou roar before thou art 
piicked? 190 

Bull. O Lord, sir! I am a diseased man. 

Fill. What disease hast thou ? 

Bull. A whoreson cold, sir, a cough, sir, 
wliich I caught with ringing in the king's 
affairs upon his coronation-day, sir. 

Fal. Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a 
gown ; we will have away thy cold ; and I will 
take such order that my friends shall ring for 
ihee. Is here all ? 199 

Shal. Here is two more called than your 
tium'.xr ; you nuist have but four here, sir: 
and so. I pray you, go in with me to dinner. 

Fal. Come, I will go drink with you, but T 
cannot tarry dinner. T am glad to see you, by I 
my troth, Master Shallow. ' 



Shal. 0, Sir John, do you remember since 
we lay all night in the windmill in Saint 
George's field ? 

Fal. No more of that, good Master Shallow, 
no more of that. 

Slial. Ha ! 'twas a merry night. And ia 
Jane Nightwork alive ? ' 211 

Fal. She lives. Master Shallow. 

Shal. She never could away with me. 

Fal. Never, never ; she would always .say- 
she could not abide Master Shallow. 

Shal. By the mass, I could anger her to the 
heart. She was then a boua-roba. Doth she 
hold her own well ? 

Ful. Old, old. Master Shallow. 210 

Shal. Nay, slie must be old ; she cannot 
clioose but be old ; certain she's old ; and had 
liobin Nightwork by old Nightwork before I 
came to Clement's Inn. 

Sil. Tliat's fifty-five year ago, 

Shal. Ha, cousin Silence, that thou liadst 
seen that that this kniglit and I have seen ! 
Ila, Sir John, .said I well ? 

Ful. We have heard the chimes at midnight, 
Master Shallow. 229 

Shal. That we have, that we have, that we 
have ; in faith. Sir John, we have : our watch- 
word was ' Hem boys 1 ' Come, let's to dinner; 
come, let's to dinner : Jesus, the days that we 
have seen ! Come, come. 

[Fxevvt FulMaff (ivd the Justices 

Bull. Good Master Corporate Bardolph, 
stand my friend ; and here's four Harry ten 
shillings in French crowns for you. In very 
truth, sir, I had as lief be hanged, sir, as go ; 
and yet, for mine own jiart, sir, I do not care ; 
but rather, because I am unwilling, and, for 
mine own part, have a desire to stay with my 
friends ; else, sir, I did not care, for mine own 
part, so much. 

Bard. Go to ; stand aside. 

Moul. And, good master corporal captain, 
for my old dame's sake, stand my friend : she 
has nobody to do any thing about her when I 
am gone ;"and she is old, and cannot help her- 
self : you shall h.ave forty, sir. 

Bard. Go to ; stand aside. 249. 

Fee. By my troth, I care not ; a man can 
die but once : we owe God a death : I'll ne'er 
bear a base mind : an't be my destiny, so ; 
an't be not, so : no man is too good to serve's 
]iriiK'e ; and let it go which way it will, he 
that dies this year is quit for the liext. 

Bard. Well said ; thou'rt a good fellow. 

Fee. Faith, I'll bear no base mind. 

Re-enter Falst.xff and the Justices. 

Ful. Come, sir, which men shall I have ? 

Shut. Four of which you please. 

Bard. Sir, a word wfth yon : I have three 
pound to free Mouldv and Bullcalf. 261 

Fal. Go too ; well. [have ? 

Shal. Come, Sir John, which four will you 

.Fal. Do you choose for me. 

Shal. JIarry, then, Mouldy, Bullcalf, Feeble 
and Shadow, 



432 



KING HENRY IV. PART II 



[Act IV. 



Fal. Mouldy and BuUcalf : for you, Mouldy, 
stay at home till you are past service : aud for 
your part, Bullcalf, grow till you come unto 
it : I will none of yon. 271 

Shal. Sir John, Sir John, do not yourself 
wrong : they are your likeliest men, and I 
would have you served with the best. 

Fal. Will you tell me, Master Shallow, how 
to choose a man ? Care I for the limb, the 
thewes, tlie stature, bulk, and big assemblance 
of a man ! Give me the spirit. Master Shallow. 
Here's Wart ; you see what a ragged appear- 
ance it is ; a' shall charge you and discharge 
you with the motion of a pewterer's hammer, 
come off and on swifter than he that gibbets 
on the brewer's bucket. And this same lialf- 
laced fellow. Shadow ; give me this man : lie 
presents no mark to the enemy ; the foeman 
may with as great aim level at the edge of a 
penknife. And for a retreat ; how swiftly 
will this Feeble the woman's tailor run off I 
O, give me the spare men, and spare me the 
great oues. Put me a caliver into Wart's hand, 
Bardolph. 290 

Bard. Hold, Wart, traverse ; thus, thus, 
thus. 

Fal. Come, manage me your caliver. So : 
very well : go to : very good, exceeding good. 
O, give me always a little, lean, old, chajit, 
bald shot. Well said, i' faith. Wart ; thou'rt a 
good scab : hold, there's a te.ster for thee. 

Shal. He is not his craft's master ; he doth 
not do it right. I remember at Mile-end Green, 
when I lay at Clement's Inn, -I was then Sir 
Dagonet in Arthur's show, — there was a little 
quiver fellow, and a' would manage you his 
IDiece thus ; and a' would about and about, and 
rome you in and come you in : ' rah, tab, tah,' 
would a' say ; ' bounce ' would a' say ; and 
away again would a' go, and again would a' 
come : I shall ne'er see such a fellow. 

Fal. These fellows will do well. Master 
Shallow. God keep you. Master Silence : I 
will not use many words with you. Fare you 
well, gentlemen both : I thank you : I must 
a dozen mile to-night. Bardolph, give the sol- 
diers coats. 311 

Shal. Sir John, the Lord bless you ! God 
prosper your affairs ! God send us peace ! At 
your return visit our house ; let our old ac- 
quaintance be renewed ; peradventure I will 
with ye to the court. 

Fal. 'Fore God, I would you would, Master 
Shallow. 

Shal. Go to ; I have spoke at a word. God 
keep you. 320 

Fal. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. 
[Exeunt Justices.] On, Bardolph; lead the juen 
away. [Exeunt Bardolph, Bccruits, &c.~\ As 
I return, I will fetch off these justices : I do 
seethe bottom of Justice Shallow. Lord, Lord, 
how subject we old men are to this vice of 
lying! This same starved justice haih done 
nothing but prate to me of tlie wildness of his 
youth, and the faats he hath done about Turn- 
DuU Street -. aud every third word a lie, duer 



paid to the hearer than the Turk's tribute. I 
do remember him at Clement's Inn like a man 
made after supper of a cheese-paring : when 
a' was naked, he was, for all the world, like a 
forked radish, with a head fanta.stically carved 
upon it with a kuife : a' was so forlorn, that 
his dimensions to any thick sight were inviuci- 
ble : a' was tlie very genius of famine ; yet 
lecherous as a monkey, and the whores called 
him mandrake: a' came ever in the rearward of 
the fashion, and sung those tunes to the over- 
scutched huswives that he heard the carmen 
whistle, and swear they were his fancies or his 
good-nights. And n»w is this Vice's dagger 
become a squire, and talks as familiarly of 
John a Gaunt as if he had been sworn brother 
to hirj ; and I'll be sworn a' ne'er saw him but 
once in the Tilt-yard ; and then he burst his 
head for crowding among the marshal's 
men. I saw it, and told John a Gaunt he beat 
liis own name ; for you might have thrust 
him and all liis apparel into an eel-skin ; the 
case of a treble hautboy was a mansion for 
liim, a court : and now has he land and beefs. 
Well, I'll be acquainted with him, if I return ; 
and it shall go hard but I will make him a 
philosopher's two stones tome: if the young 
dace be a bait for the old pike, I see no reason 
in the law of nature but I may snap at him. 
Let time shape, and there an end. [Exit. 



ACT IV. 



Scene I. Yorkshire. GauUree Forest. 
Enter the Archbishop of York, Mowbray, 
Hastings, and others. 
Arch. What is this forest call'd ? 
Hast. 'Tis Gaultree Forest, an't shall please 

your grace. 
Arch. Here stand, my lords ; and send dis- 
coverers forth 
To know the numbers of our enemies. 
Hast. We have sent forth already. 
Arch. 'Tis well done. 

My friends and brethren in these great af- 
fairs, 
I must acquaint you that I have received 
New-dated letters from Northumberland ; 
Their cold intent, tenor and substance, thus : 
Here doth he wish his person, with such pow- 
ers 
As might hold sortance with his quality, 11 
The which he could not levy ; whereupon 
He is retired, to ripe his growing fortunes, 
To Scotland : and concludes in hearty prayers 
That your attempts may overlive the hazard 
And fearful meeting of their opposite. 
Moicb. Thus do the hopes we have in him 
touch ground 
And dash themselves to pieces. 
Enter a Messenger. 
Hast. Now, what news? 

Mess. West of this forest, scarcely off a 
mile, 



Scene i.l 



jtWG ffEmr IV. PART n. 



w. 



In goodly form comes on the enemy ; 20 

And, by' the ground they hide, 1 judge their 

number 
Upon or near the rate of thirty thousand. 
Mowh. The just proportion that we gave 
them out. 
Let us sway on and face them in tlie field. 
Arch. What well-appointed leader fronts 
us here ? 

Enter Westjiokeland. 

Mowb. I thinii it is my Lord of Westmore- 
land. 
West. Health and fair greeting from our 
general, 
The prince, Lord John and Duke of Lancaster. 
Arch. Say on, my Lord of Westmoreland, 
in peace : 
Wliat doth concern your coming ? 

West. ■ " Then, my lord, 30 

Unto your grace do I in chief address 
The substance of my speech. If that rebel- 
lion 
Came like itself, in base and abject routs. 
Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rags. 
And countenanced by boys and beggary, 
I say, if damn'd commotion so appear'd, 
In his true, native and most proper shajjc. 
You, reverend father, and these noble loids 
Had not been here, to dress the ugly form 
Of base and bloody insurrection 40 

With your fair honors. You, lord arch- 
bishop, 
Whose see is by a civil peace maintain'd, 
Whose beard the silver hand of peace luith 
touch'd, tutor'd, 

Whose learning and good letters peace hath 
Whose white inve.straents figure innocence. 
The dove and very blessed spirit of jieace. 
Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself 
Out of the speech of peace that bears such 

grace. 
Into the harsh and boisterous tongue of war ; 
Turning vour books to t graves, your ink to 
blood, 50 

Your pens to lances and your tongue divine 
To a loud trumpet and a point of war ? 
Arch. Wherefore do I this ? so the question 
stands. 
Briefly to this end : we are all diseased, 
And with our surfeiting and wanton hours 
Have brought ourselves into a burning fever, 
And we must bleed for it ; of which disease 
Our late king, Richard, being infected, died. 
But, my most noble Lord of \Vestmoreland, 
I take not on me here as a physician, GO 

Nor do I as an enemy to peace 
Troop in the throngs of military men ; 
But rather show awhile like fearful war, 
To diet rank minds sick of happiness 
And purge the obstructions which begin to 

stop 
Our verv veins of life. Hear me more plainly. 
I have in equal balance justly weigh'd 
What wrongs our arms niaj^ do, what wrongs 
we suffer, 



And find our griefs heavier than our offences. 
We see which way the stream of tunc doth 
run, . 70 

And are enforced from our most quiet there 
By the rough torrent of occasion ; 
And have the summary of all our griefs. 
When time shall serve, to show in ai tides ; 
Which long ere this we offcr'd to the king. 
And might by no suit gain our iuidience : 
When we are wroug'd and would unfold our 

griefs, 
We are denied access unto his jjcrson 
Even by those men that most have done us 

wrong. 
The dangers of the days but newly gone, 80 
Whose memory is written on the earth 
With yet appeai-ing blood, and the examples 
Of every minute's instance, present now, 
Hath put us in these ill-beseeming arms, 
Not to break peace or any branch of it, 
But to establish here a peace indeed. 
Concurring both in name and quality. 

West. When ever yet was your appeal 
denied ? 
Wlierein have you been galled by the king ? 
What peer hath been subom'd to grate on you, 
That you should seal this lawless bloody book 
Of forged rebellion w-ith a seal divine 
And consecrate commotion's bitter edge ? 
Arch, t My brother general, the common- 
wealth. 
To brother born an household cruelty, 
I make my quarrel in particular. 

West. There is no need of any such re- 
dress ; 
Or if there were, it not belongs to you. 
Monb. Why not to him in part, and to us 
all 
That feel the bruises of the days before, 100 
And suffer the condition of these times 
To lay a heavy and unequal hand 
Ujion our honors ? 

West. O, my good Lord Mowbray, 

Construe the times to their necessities, 
And you shall say indeed, it is the time. 
And not the king, that doth you injuries. 
Yet for your part, it not appears to me 
Either from the king or in the present time 
Tliat you should have an inch of any ground 
To build a giief on : were vou not restored 
To all the Duke of Norfolk's signories. 111 
Your noble and right w'ell remember'd father's? 
Mowb. What thing, in honor, had my father 
lost. 
That need to be revived and breathed in me ? 
The king that loved him, as the state stood 

then. 
Was force perforce compell'd to banish him : 
And then that Harry Bolingbroke and he. 
Being mounted and both roused in their seats. 
Their neighing coursers daring of the spur. 
Their armed staves in charge, their beavers 
down, 120 

Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of 

siteel 
And the loud trumpet blowing them together, 

28 



m 



JCI^a itENRt TV. PART IT. 



[Act iV. 



Then, then, when there was nothing could 

have stay'd 
My father from the breast of Bohngbroke, 
O, when the king did throw his warder down. 
His own life hung upon the staff he threw ; 
Then threw he dowu himself and all their 

lives 
That by indictment and by dint of sword 
Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke. 
Wa.'it. You speak, Lord Mowbray, now you 
know not what. VoO 

The Earl of Hereford was reputed then 
In England the most valiant gentleman : 
Who knows on whom fortune would then have 

smiled ? 
But if your father had been victor there. 
He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry : 
For all the country in a general voice 
Cried hate upon him ; and all their prayers 

and love 
Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on 
And bless'd and graced indeed, more than the 

king. 
But this is mere digression from my purpose. 
Here come I from our princely general 141 
To know your griefs ; to tell you from his grace 
That he will give you audience ; and wherein 
It shall appear that your demands are just. 
You shall enjpy them, every thing set off 
That might so much as think you enemies. 
Mowh. But he hath forced us to compel this 
offer ; 
And it proceeds from policy, not love. 

West. Mowbray, you overween to take it 
so ; 
This offer comes from mercy, not from fear : 
For, lo ! within a ken our army lies, 151 

Upon mine honor, all too confident 
To give admittance to a thought of fear. 
Our battle is more full of names than yours. 
Our men more perfect in the use of arms, 
Our armor all as strong, our cause the best ; 
Then reason will our heart should be as good : 
Say you not then our offer is compell'd. 
Mowb. Well, by my will we shall admit no 

parley. 
West. That argues but the shame of your 
offence : 160 

A rotten case abides no handliug. 
Hast. Hath the Prince John a full commis- 
sion. 
In very ample virtue of his father. 
To hear and absolutely to determine 
Of what conditions we shall stand upon ? 
West. That is intended in the general's 
name : 
I muse you make so slight a question. 
Arch. Then take, my Lord of Westmore- 
land, this schedule. 
For this contains our general grievances : 
Each several article herein redress'd, 170 

All members of our cause, both here and 

hence. 
That are insinew'd to this action. 
Acquitted by a true substantial form 
And present execution of our wills 



To us and to our purposes confined, 
We come within our awful banks again 
And laiit our powers to the arm of peace. 
West. This will I show the general. Please 
you, lords. 
In sight of both our battles we may meet ; 179 
And either end in peace, which God so frame ! 
Or to the place of difference call the swords 
Which must decide it. 
Areh. My lord, we will do so. [Exit West. 
Moivb. There is a thing within my bosom 
tells me 
That no conditions of our peace can stand. 
Hast. Fear you not that : if we can make 
our peace 
Upon such large terms and so absolute 
As our conditions shall consist upon. 
Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky moun- 
tains. 
Moiuh. Yea, but our valuation shall be such 
That every slight and false-derived cause, 190 
Yea, every idle, nice and wanton reason 
Shall to the king taste of this action ; 
That, were our royal faiths martyrs iu love, 
We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind 
That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff 
And good from bad find no partition. 
Arch. No, no, my lord. Note this ; the 
king is weary 
Of dainty and such picking grievances : 
For he hath found to end one doubt by death 
Revives two greater in the heirs of life, 200 
And therefore will he wipe his tables clean 
And keep no tell-tale to his memory 
That may repeat and history his loss 
To new remembrance ; for full well he knows 
He cannot so precisely weed this land 
As his misdoubts present occasion : 
His foes are so enrooted with his friends 
That, plucking to unfix an enemy. 
He doth unfasten so and shake a friend : 
So that this land, like an offensive wife 210 ' 
That hath enraged him on to offer strokes, 
As he is striking, holds his infant up 
And hangs resolved correction in the arm 
That was uprear'd to execution. 
Hast. Besides, the king hath wasted all his 
rods 
On late offenders, that he now doth lack 
The very instruments of chastisement : 
So that his power, like to a fangless lion, 
May offer, but not hold. 

Arch. 'Tis very true : 

And therefore be assured, my good lord mar- 
shal, 220 
If we do now make our atonement well, 
Our peace will, like a broken limb united. 
Grow stronger for the breaking. 

Moioh. Be it so. 

Here is return' d my Lord of Westmoreland. 

Re-enter Westmoreland. 

West. The prince is here at hand : pleaseth 
your lordship 
To meet his grace just distance 'tween oux 
armies. 



ScENt II.] 



RING BENRY IV. PAUT 11. 



435 



Mowb. Your grace of York, in God's name, 

then, set forward. 
Arch. Before, and greet hi.s grace : ray lord, 

we come. \_Exeunl. 

Scene II. Another part of tlce forest. 

Enter, from one side, Mowbi^av, attended; 
afteiivards the Archeishoi', Hastings, 
(itul others : from the other side, Pkince 
John of Lancaster, and Westmore- 
land ; Officers, and others ivith them. 

Lan. You are well eucouuter'd here, my 
cousiu Mowbray : 
Good day to you, gentle lord archbishop ; 
And so to you. Lord Hastings, and to all. 
My Lord of York, it better sliow'd with you 
When that your tlock, assembled by the bell, 
Encircled you to hear with reverence 
Your exposition on the holy text 
Thau now to see you here an iron man, 
Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum, 9 
Turning the word to sword and life to death. 
That man that sits within a monarch's heart. 
And ripens in the sunshine of his favor, 
"Would he abuse the countenance of the king, 
Alack, what mischiefs might he set abrooch 
In shadow of such greatness ! With you, lord 

bishop. 
It is even so. Who hath not heard it spoken 
How deep you were within the books of God ? 
To us tlie speaker in his parliament ; 
To us the imagined voice of God himself ; 
"The very opener and intelligencer 20 

Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven 
And our dull workings. O, who sliall believe 
But you misuse the reverence of your place. 
Employ the countenance and grace of heaven. 
As a false favorite doth his prince's name. 
In deeds dishonorable ? You have ta'en up. 
Under the counterfeited zeal of God, 
The subjects of his substitute, my father. 
And both against the i)eace of heaven and him 
Have here up-swarm'd them. 

Arch. Good my Lord of Lancaster, 30 

I am not here against your father's peace ; 
But, as I told my lord of Westmoreland, 
The time misorder'd doth, in common sense, 
Crowd us and crush us to this monstrous form. 
To hold our safety up. I sent your grace 
The parcels and particulars of our grief. 
The which hath been with scorn shoved from 

the court, 
"Whereon this Hydra son of war is born ; 
Whose dangerous eyes may well be charni'd 

asleep 
With grant of our most just and right desires, 
And true obedience, of this madness cured, 
Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty. 
Moicb. If not, we ready are to try our for- 
tunes 
To the last man. 

Hast. And though we here fall down, 

"We have supplies to second our attempt : 
If they miscarry, theirs shall second them ; 
Aud so success of mischief shall be bom 



And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up 
Willies England shall have i;eneration. 
Lan. You ••ire too shallow, Hastings, much 
too shallow, 50 

To sound the bottoiii of the after-times. 

West. Pleaseth your grace to answer them 
directly 
How far forth jou do like their articles. 
Lan. I like them all, and do allow them 
well, 
And swear here, by the honor of my blood, 
jMv father's purposes have been mistook, 
And some about him have too lavishly 
Wrested his meaning and authority. 
My lord, these griefs shall be with speed re- 

dress'd ; 
Upon my soul, thej'^ shall. If this may please 
you, GO 

Discharge your powers unto their several 

counties. 
As we will ours : and here between the armies 
Let's drink together friendly and embrace. 
That all their eyes may bear tliose tokens 

home 
Of our restored love and amity. 
Arch. I take your princely word for these 

redresses. 
Lan. I give it you, and will maintain my 
word : 
And thereupon I drink unto your grace. 

JIast. Go, captain, and deliver to the army 
This news of peace : let them have pay, and 
part : 70 

I know it will well please them. Hie thee, 
captain. [Exit Officer. 

Arch. To you, my noble Lord of Westmore- 
land. 
West. I pledge your grace ; and, if you knew 
what pains 
I have bestow'd to breed this present peace, 
You woidd drink freely : but my love to j'B 
Shall show itself more openly hereafter. 
Arch. I do not doubt you. 
West. . I am glad of it. 

Health to my lord and gentle cousin, jMow- 
bray. 
Moiob. You wish me health in very happy 
season ; 
For lam, on the sudden, something ill. 80 
Arch. Against ill chances men are ever 
merry ; 
But heaviness foreruns the good event. 

West. Therefore be merry, coz ; since sud- 
den sorrow 
Serves to say thus, ' some good thing comes 
to-morrow.' 
Arch. Believe me, I am passing light iu 

spirit. 
Mowb. So much the worse, if your own 
rule be true. [Shouts ivithin. 

Lan. The word of peace is render'd: hark, 

how they shout ! 
Mowb. This had been cheerful after victory. 
.-l?-c/i, A peace is of the nature of a con- 
quest ; 
For then both parties nobly are subdued, 90 



KmO UENRY IV. PART It. 



fAcT itr. 



And neither party loser. 

Lan. Go, my lord, 

And let our army be discharged too. 

[Exit Westmoreland. 
And, good my lord, so please you, let our 

trains 
March by us, that we may peruse the men 
We should have coped withal. 

Arch. Go, good Lord Hastings, 

Aud, ere they be dismiss'd, let them march hy. 

[Exit Hastinr/s. 

Lan. I trust, lords, we shall lie to-uight 

together. 

He-enter Westmoreland. 
Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still ? 
West. The leaders, having charge from you 
to stand. 
Will not go off until they hear you speak. 100 
Lan. They know their duties. 

Re-enter Hastings. 

Hast. My lord, our army is dispersed al- 
ready ; 

Like youthful steers unyoked, they take their 
courses 

East, west, north, south ; or, like a school 
broke up. 

Each hurries toward his home and sporting- 
place. 
West. Good tidings, my Lord Hastings ; 
for the which 

I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason : 

And you, lord archbishop, and you, lord Mow- 
bray, 

Of capital treason I attach you both. 
Moiub. Is this proceeding just and honor- 
able ? 110 
West . Is your assembly so ? 
Arch. Will you thus break your faith ? 
Lan. I pawu'd thee none : 

I promised you redress of these same griev- 
ances 

Whereof you did complain ; which, by mine 
honor, 

[ will perform with a most Christian care. 

But for you, rebels, look to taste the due 

Meet for rebellion and such acts as yours. 

Most shallowiy did you these arms commence. 

Fondly brought here and foolishly sent hence. 

Strike up our drums, pursue the scatter' d 
stray : 120 

God, and not we,hath safely fought to-day. 

Some guard these traitors to the block of 
death. 

Treason's true bed and yielder up of breath. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. Another part of the forest. 

Alarum. Excursions. Enter Falstaff 
and CoLEVtLE, meeting. 

Fal. What's your name, sir? of what condi- 
tion are you, and of what place, I pray ? 

Cole. I am a knight, sir, and my name is 
Colevile of the dale. 

Fid, Well, then, Colevile is your name, a 



knight is your degree, and your place the dale : 
Colevile shall be still your name, a traitor your 
degree, and the dungeon your place, a place 
deep enough ; so shall you be still Colevile of 
the dale. 10 

Cole. Are not you Sir John Falstaff ? 

Fal. As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I 
am. Do ye yield, sir ? or shall I sweat for 
you ? If I do sweat, they are the drops of 
thy lovers, and they weep for thy death : 
therefore rouse up fear and trembling, and do 
observance to my mercy. 

Cole. I think you are Sir John Falstaff, and 
in that thought yield me. 19 

Fal. I have a whole school of tongues in 
this belly of mine, and not a tongue of them 
all speaks any other word but ray name. An 1 
had but a belly of any indifference, I were 
simply the most active fellow in Europe : my 
womb, ray womb, my womb, undoes me. 
Here comes our general. 

Enter Prince John of Lancaster, West- 
moreland, Blunt, and others. 

Lan. The heat is past ; follow no further 

now ; 

Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland. 

[Exit Westmoreland. 

Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this 

while ? 
When every thing is ended, then you come : 30 
These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life. 
One time or other break some gallows' back. 

Fal. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should 
be thus: I never knew yet but rebuke and 
check was the reward of valor. Do you think 
me a swallow, an arrow, or a bullet '? have I, 
in my poor and old motion, the expedition of 
thought ? I have speeded hither with the very 
extremest inch of possibility ; I have foundered 
nine score and odd posts : and here, travel- 
tainted as I am, have, in my pure aud immac- 
ulate valor, taken Sir John Colevile of the dale, 
a most furious knight and valorous enemy. 
But what of that ? he saw me, and yielded : 
that I may justly say, with the hook-nosed 
fellow of Rome, ' I came, saw, and overcame.' 

Lan. It was more of his courtesy than your 
deserving. 

Fal. I know not : here he is, and here 1 
yield him : aud T beseech your grace, let it be 
booked with the rest of this day's deeds ; or, 
by the Lord, I will have it in a particular bal- 
lad else, with mine own picture on the top on't, 
Colevile kissing my foot : to the which course 
if I be enforced, if you do not all show like gilt 
twopences to me, and I in the clear sky of 
fame o'ershine you as much as the full moon 
doth the cinders of the element, which show 
like pins' heads to her, believe not the word of 
the noble : therefore let me have right, aud let 
desert mount. 61 

Lan. Thine's too heavy to mount 

Fal. Let it shine, then. 

Lan. Thine's too thick to shine. 

Fal, Let it do something, my good loidf 



SCBNE III.) 



KING HENRY IV. PART II. 



4.J7 



that may do me good, and call it what you 
will. 

Lan. Is thy name Colevile ? 

Cole. It is, my .'ord 

Lan. A famous rebel art thou, Colevile. 

Fal. And a famous true subject took him. 70 

Cole. I am, my lord, but as my betters are 
That led me hither : had they been ruled by 

me, 
You should have wou them dearer than you 
have. 

Fal. I know not how they sold themselves : 
but thou, like a kind fellow, gavest thyself 
away gratis ; and I thank thee for thee. 

Re-enter Westmoreland. 

Lan. Now, have you left pursuit ? 

West. Retreat is made and execution stay'd. 

Lan. Send Colevile with his confederates 
To York, to present execution ; 80 

Blunt, lead him hence ; and see you gupi-d 
him sure. 

[Exeunt Blunt and others icith Colevile. 
And now dispatch we toward the court, my 

lords : 
1 liear the king my father is sore sick : 
Our news shall go before us to his majesty, 
Which, cousin, you shall bear to comfort him, 
And we with sober speed will follow you. 

Fal. My lord, I beseech you, give me leave 
to go 
Through Gloucestershire: and, when you come 

to court. 
Stand my good lord, pray, in your good report. 

Lan. Fare you well, Falstaff : I, in my con- 
dition, 90 
Shall better speak of you than you deserve. 

[Exeunt all but Falstaff. 

Fal. I would you had but the wit : 'twere 
better than your dukedom. Good faitlv, this 
same young .sober-blooded boy doth not love 
me ; nor a man cannot make him laugh : but 
that's UG marvel, lie drinks no wine. There's 
never none of these demure b~iys come to any 
proof for thin drink doth so over-cool their 
blood, and making many fish -meals, that they 
fall Into a kind of male green-sickness ; and 
then, when they marry, they get v/enches : 
they are generally fools and cowards ; which 
some of us should be too, but for inflamma- 
tion. A good sherris sack hath a two-fold op- 
eration in it. It ascends me into the brain ; 
dries me there all the foolish and dull and 
curdy vnpors which environ it ; makes it ap- 
prehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble 
fiery and delectable shapes ; which, delivered 
o'er to the voice, the tongue, which is the birth, 
becomes excellent wit. The second property 
of your excellent sherris is, the warming of 
the blood ; which, before cold and settled, left 
the liver white and pale, which is the badge of 
pusillanimity and cowardice ; but the sherris 
warms it and makes it course from the in- 
wards to the parts extreme : it illumireth the 
face, which as a beacon gives warning to all 
the rest of this little kingdom, maii, lo arm ; 



and then the vital commoners and uiland petty 
spirits iruster me all to their captain, the 
heart, who, great and puffed up with this ret- 
inue, doth any deed of courage; and this valor 
comes of sherris. So that sKili in the weapon 
is nothing without sack, fortliat sets ita-work ; 
and learning a mere hoiird oi gold kept by a 
devil, till .sack commences it and sets it in ;i' t 
and use. Hereof comes it that Prince Ilaiiy 
is valiant ; for the cold blood lie did uutLiraiiy 
inhei'it of his father, he hath, like lean, stcriie 
and bare land, manured, hnsbanded and tilled 
with excellent endeavor of drinking good and 
good store of fertile sherris, ttuit he is becoin.? 
very liot and valiant. If I had a thousaud 
sons, the first humane principle I would teacj'i 
them should be, to forswear thin potations 
and to addict themselves to sack. 

Enter Bakdolph. 
How now Bardolph ? 
Ba7-d. The army is discharged all and gone. 
Fal. Let them go. I'll through Gloucester- 
shire ; and there will I visit Master Robert 
Shallow, esquire : I have him alrendy temper- 
ing between my finger and my thumb, and 
shortly will I seal with hiu). Come away. 

[Exeunt. 
Scene IV. Westminster. The Jerusalem 
Chamber. 
Enter the King, the Princes Thomas of 
Clarence and Humphrey of Glouces- 
ter, Wakwitk, and others. 

King. Kow, lords, if God doth give sue-, 
cessful end 
To this debate that bleed'ith at our doors, 
We will our youth lead on to higher fields 
And draw no swords bnt what are sanctified. 
Our navy is address'd, our power collected, 
Our substitutes in abeeiice well invested, 
And every thing lies level to our wish : 
Only, wewant a little personal strength ; 
And pause us, till these vebels, now afoot. 
Come underneath the yoke of government. 10 
War. Both which we doubt not but your 
majesty 
Shall soon enjoy. 

Ki7i(/. Humphrey, my son of Gloucester, 
Where is the prince y "mr brother ? 

Gloii. I think he's gone to hunt, my lord, 

at Windsor. 
Kinr/. And how accompanied ? 
Glori. I do not know, my lord. 

King. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clar- 
ence, with him ? 
Gloit. No, my good lord ; he is in presence 

here, 
Clar. ^Vhat would my lord and father ? 
King. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of 
Clarence. 
How chance thou art not with the jirince thy 
brother ? 20 

lie loves thee, and thou dost neglect tkn, 

Thomas ; 
Thou hast a better place in his affectioa 



438 



Ema HEimY TV, pabtit. 



tAcT ir. 



Than all thy brothers : cherish it, my boy. 

And noble offices thou mayst effect 

Of mediation, after I am dead, 

Between his greatness and thy other brethren : 

Therefore omit him not ; blunt not his love, 

Nor lose the good advantage of his grace 

By seeming cold or careless of his will ; 

Tor he is gracious, if he be observed : 30 

He hath a tear for pity and a hand 

Open as day for melting charity : 

Yet notwithstanding, being incensed, he's flint, 

As humorous as winter and as sudden 

As flaws congealed in the spring of day. 

His temper, therefore, must be well observed 

Chide him for faults, and do it reverently. 

When you perceive his blood inclined to mirth; 

But, being moody, give him line and scope, 

Till that his passions, lilie a whale on ground, 

Confound themselves with worJdng. Learn 

this, Thomas, 41 

And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends, 
A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in. 
That the united vessel of their blood, 
Mingled with venom of suggestion— 
As, force perforce, the age will pour it in — 
Shall never leak, though it do worii as strong 
As aconitum or rash gunpowder. 
Clar. I shall observe him with all care and 

love. 
King. Why art thou not at Windsor with 

him, Thomas ? 
Clar. He is not thereto-day; he dines in 

London. 

King. And how accompanied? canst thou 

teU that? 
Clar. With Poins, and other his continual 

followers. 

King. Most subject Is the fattest soil to 
weeds ; 

And he, the noble image of my youth, 
Is o^'erspread with them : therefore my grief 
Stretches itself beyond the hour of death : 
The blood weeps from my heart when I do 

shape 
In forms imaginary the unguided days 
And rotten time that you shall look upon 60 
When I am sleeping with my ancestors. 
For when his headstrong riot hath no curb. 
When rage and hot blood are his counsellors, 
When means and lavish manners meet to- 
gether, 
O, with what wings shall his affection fly 
Towards fronting peril and opposed decay 1 

War. My gracious lord, you look beyond 

him quite : 
The prince but studies his companions 
Like a strange tongue, wherein, to gain the 

language, 
'Tis needful that the most immodest word 70 
Be look'd upon and learn'd ; which once at- 

tain'd. 
Your highness knows, come to no further use 
But to be known and hated. So, like gross 

terms. 
The prince vrill in the perf ectness of time 
Cast o£e bis followers ; and their memory 



Shall as a pattern or a measure live. 

By which his grace must meet the lives of 

others. 
Turning past evils to advantages. 
King. 'Tis seldom when the bee doth leave 

her comb 
In the dead carrion. 

Enter Westmoreland. 

Who's here? Westmoreland? 80 

West. Health to my sovereign, and new hap- 
piness 
Added to that that I am to deliver ! 
Prince John, your son, doth kiss your grace's 

hand: 
Mowbray, the Bishop Scoop, Hastings and ell 
Are brought to the correction of your law ; 
There is not now a rebel's sword unsheath'd 
But peace puts forth her olive everywhere. 
The manner how this action hath been borne 
Here at more leisure may your highness read. 
With every course in his particular. 90 " 

King. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer 
bird. 
Which ever in the hunch of winter sings 
The lifting up of day. 

Enter Harcourt. 

Look, here's more news. 
Har. From enemies heaven keep your ma- 
jesty ; 
And, when they stand against you, may they 

fall 
As those that I am come to tell you of ! 
The Earl Northumberland and the Lord Bar- 

dolph. 
With a great power of English and of Scots, 
Are by the sheriff of Yorkshire overthrown : 
The manner and true order of the flght 100 

This packet, please it you, contains at large. 
Kmg. And wherefore should these good 
news make me sick ? 
Will fortune never come with both hands full 
But write her fair words still in foulest letters?. 
She either gives a stomach and no food ; 
Such are the poor in health ; or else a feast 
And takes away the stomach ; such are the rich. 
That have abundance and enjoy it not. 
I should rejoice now at this happy news ; 109 
And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy : 
O me I come near me ; now I am much ill. 
Gy^u. Comfort, your majesty I 
Clar. O my royal father ! 

West. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, 

look up. 
War. Be patient, princes: you do know, 
these fits 
Are with his highness very ordinary. 
Stand from him, give him air ; he'll straight be 
well. 
Clar. No, no, he cannot long hold out these 
pangs : 
The incessant care and labor of his mind 
Hath wrought the mure that should confiOQ tt 
I «» 



Scene v,^ 



KING HENRY IV. PART II. 



489 



So thin that life looks through and will break 

out. 

Glou. The people fear me ; for they do 

observe 

Uufatlier'd heirs and loathly births of nature: 

Tlie seasons change their manners, as the 

year 
Had found some months asleep and leap'd 
them over. 
Clar. The river hath thrice flow'd, no ebb 
between ; 
And the old folk, time's doting chronicles, 
Say it did so a little time before 
That our great-grandsire, Edward, sick'd and 
died. 
War. Speak lower, princes, for the king 

recovers. 
Glou. This apoplexy will certain be his end. 
King. I pray you, take me up, and bear 
me hence 131 

Into some other chamber : softly, pray. 

Scene V. Another chamber. 
TJie King bjing on a bed : Clarence, Glou- 
cester, Warwick, and others in attendance. 
King. Let there be no noise made, mj' 
gentle friends ; 
Unless some dull and favorable hand 
Will whisper music to my weary spirit. 
Wor. Call for the music in the otlier room. 
King. Set me the crown upon my pillow 

here. 
Clar. His eye is hollow, and he changes 

much. 
War. Less noise, less noise ! 

Enter Prince Henry. 

Prince. Who saw the Duke of Clarence ? 
Clar. I am here, brother, full of heaviness. 
Prince. How now ! raiia within doors, and 
none abroad ! 
How doth the king ? 10 

Glou. Exceeding ill. 

Prince. Heard he the good news yet ? 

Tell it him 
Glou. He alter'd much upon the hearing it. 
Prince. If he be sick with joy, he'll re- 
cover without physic. 
War. Not so much noise, my lords: sweet 
prince, speak low ; 
The king your father is disposed to sleep. 
Clar. Let us withdraw iuto the other room. 
War. Will't please your grace to go along 

with us ? 
Prince. No ; I will sit and watch here by 
the king. [Ereiint all but the Prince. 20 
Why dotli the crown lie there upon his pillow. 
Being so troublesome a bedfellow ? 
O polish'd perturbation ! golden care ! 
That keep'st the ports of slumber opeu wide 
To many a watchful night ! sleep witli it now ! 
Yet not so sound and half so deeply sAveet 
As he wliose brow with homely biggeu bound 
Snores out the watch of night.' O majesty ! 
\Vheu thou dost piuuh thy bearer, thov. dost 
sit 



Like a rich armor worn in heat of day, 30 

That scalds with safety. By his gates of 

breath 
There lies a downy feather which stirs not : 
Did he suspire, that ligl\t and weightless down 
Perforce must move. Mv gracious lord ! my 

father ! 
This sleep is sound indeed ; this is a sleep 
That from this golden rigol hath divorced 
So many English kings. Thy due from me 
Is tears and heavj^ sorrows of the blood, 
Which nature, love, and filial tenderness, 
Shall, O dear father, pay tliee plenteously : 40 
My due from thee is tliis imperial crown. 
Which, as immediate from thy place and 

blood. 
Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits. 
Which God shall guard : and jiut the world's 

whole strength 
Into one giant arm, it shall not force 
This lineal honor from me : this from thee 
Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me. ySxit. 
King. Warwick ! Gloucester ! Clarence ! 

Re-enter Warwick, Gloucester, Clarence, 
and the rest. 

Clar. Doth the king call ? 
War. What would, your majesty ? How 
fares your grace ? 50 

King. Why did you leave me here alone, 

my lords ? 
Clar. We left the prince my brother here, 
my liege. 
Who undertook to sit and watch by you. 
King. The Prince of Wales ! Where is 
he ? let me see him : 
He is not here. 

War. This door is opeu ; he is gone thi«; 

way. 
Glou. He came not through the chamber 

where we stay'd. 
King. Where is the crown ? who took it 

from my pillow ? 
War. When we withdrew, my liege, we 

left it here. 
King. The prince hath ta'en it hence : go, 
seek him out. 60 

Is lie so hasty that he doth suppose 
]SIy sleep my death ? 

Find him, my Lord of Warwick ; chid» him 
hither. [Exit Warwick. 

This part of his conjoins with my disease, 
And helps to end me. See, sons, what things 

you are ! 
How quickly nature falls into revolt 
When gold becomes her object ! 
For this the foolish over-careful fathers 
Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their 

brains with care, 
Their bones with indu,«try ; 70 

For this they have engrossed and piled up 
The canker'd heaps ol strange-achieved gold ; 
For tliis they have been thoughtful to invest 
Their sons with arts and marti.il exercises : 
When, like the bee, culling from every flower 
"iiie virtuous sweets. 



440 



KING HENRY IV. PART II. 



[Act IV. 



Our thighs pack'd with wax, our mouths with 

houey, 
We bring it to the hive, and, like the bees, 
Are murdered for our pains, Tliis bitter taste 
Yield his engrossments to tbe ■ending fatlier. 

Re-enter Warwick. 
Now, where is he that will not stay so long 
Till his friend siclcness hath determined me ? 
War. My lord, I found the prince in the 

next room. 
Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks, 
With such a deej) demeanor in great sorrow 
That tyranny, which never quaff d but blood. 
Would, by beholding him, have wasla'd his 

knife 
With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither. 
King. But wherefore did he take away 

the crown ? 

Re-enter Pkince Henry. 
Lo, where he comes. Come hither to me, 

Harry. 
Depart the chamber, leave us here alone. 91 
[Exeiait Warwick and the rest. 
Prince. I never thought to hear you speak 

again. [thought : 

King. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that 
I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. 
Dost thou so hunger for mine empty chair 
That thou wilt needs invest thee witli my 

honors 
Before tliy hour be ripe ? O foolish youth ! 
Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm 

thee. 
Stay but a little ; for ray cloiid of dignity 
Is held from falling with so weak a wind 100 
That it will quickly drop : my day is dim. 
Thou hast stolen that which after some few 

hours 
Were thine witliout offence ; and at my deatli 
Thou hastseal'd up my expectation : 
Thy life did manifest thou lovedst me not. 
And thou wilt have me die assured of it. 
Thou hidest a thousand daggers in thy 

thoughts, 
Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart, 
To stab at half an hour of my life. 
What ! canst thou not forbear me half an 

hour ? 110 

Then get tliee gone and dig my grave thyself. 
And bid the meri-y bells ring to thine ear 
That thou art crowned, not that I am dead. 
Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse 
Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head : 
Only comijound me with forgotten dust ; 
Give that which gave thee life unto the 

worms. 
Pluck down my officers, break my decrees ; 
For now a time is come to mock at form : 
Harry the Filth is crown'd : up, vanity ! 120 
Down, royal state ! all you sage counsellors, 

hence ! 
And to the English court assemble now. 
From every region, apes of idleness ! 
Now, neighbor confines, purge you of your 

scum; 



Have you a ruffian that will swear, drink, 

dance, 
Revel the night, rob, murder, and commit 
The oldest sins the newest kind of ways ? 
Be happy, he will trouble you no more ; 
England shall double gild his treble guilt, 129 
England shall give him office, honor, might ; 
For the fifth Harry from curb'd license plucks 
The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog- 
Shall flesh his tooth on every innocent. 

my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows ! 
When that my care could not withhold thy 

riots, 
What wilt thou do when riot is tl'y care ? 
0, thou wilt be a wilderness again, 
Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants ! 
Prince. O, pardon me, my liege ! but for 

my tears. 
The moist impediments unto my speech, 140 

1 had forestail'd this dear and deep rebuke 
Ere you with grief had sjioke and I liad heard 
The course of it so far. There is your crown ; 
And He that wears the crown immortally 
Long guard it yours ! If I affect it more 
Thau as your honor and as your renown, 

Let me no more from this obedience rise. 
Which my most inward true and duteous spirit 
Teacheth, this prostrate and exterior bending. 
God witness with me, when I here came in, 
And found no course of breath within your 
majesty, 151 

How cold it struck my heart ! If I do feign, 
O, let me in my present wildness die 
And never live to show the incredulous world 
The noble change that I have purposed ! 
Coming to look on you, thinking you dead, 
And dead almost, my liege, to tliink you were, 
I spake unto this crown as having sense. 
And thus upbraided it : ' The care on thee de- 
pending 
Hath fed upon the body of my father ; 160 
Therefore, thou best of gold art worst of gold : 
Other, less ffne in carat, is more precious. 
Preserving life in medicine potable ; 
But thou, most fine, most honor'd, most re- 

nown'd. 
Hast eat thy bearer up.' Thus, my most 

royal liege, 
Accusing it, I put it on my head. 
To try with it, as with an enemy 
That had before my face murder'd my father, 
The quarrel of a true inheritor. 
But if it did infect my blood with joy, _ 170 
Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pMde ; 
If any rebel or vain spirit of mine 
Did with the least affection of a welcome 
Give entertainment to the might of it. 
Let God for ever keep it from my head 
And make me as the pooi-est vassal is 
That doth with awe and terror kneel to it ! 

King. O my son, 
God put it in thy mind to take it heiice, 
That thou mightst win the more thy father's 
love, 180 

Pleading so wisely in excuse of it ! 
Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed ; 




Prince Henrv. •• There is your crozvn. 

And He that wears the cran'n ifnmortally 
Long guard it yours I " 

King Hrnky IV., Part II., ^age 44c 



Scene i.] 



KING HENRY IV. PART II. 



441 



And hear, I think, the very latest counsel 
That ever I shall breathe. God knows, my son, 
By what by-paths and indirect crook' d ways 
I met this crown ; and I myself know well 
How troublesome it sat upon my head. 
To thee it shall descend with better quiet, 
Better opinion, better confirmation ; 
For all the soil of the achievement goes 190 
■\Vitli me into the earth. It seem'd in me 
But as an honor snatcli'd with boisterous hand, 
And I had many living to upbraid 
My gain of it by their assistances ; 
^V'liicli daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed, 
Wounding supposed peace : all these bold fears 
Thou see'st with peril I liave auswered ; 
For all my reign hatli been but as a scene 
Acting that argument : and now my death 
Changes the mode ; for what in me was pur- 
chased, 200 
Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort ; 
So thou the garland wear'st successively. 
Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I 

could do, 
Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are 

green ; 
And all my friends, which thou must make 

thy friends. 
Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en 

out ; 
By whose fell working I was first advanced 
And by whose power I well might lodge a fear 
To be again displaced : wliich to avoid, 
I cut them off; and had a purpose now 210 
To lead out many to tlie Holy Land, 
Lest rest and lying still might make them look 
Too near unto my state. Tlierefore, my Harry, 
Be it thy course to busy giddy minds 
With foreign quarrels ; that action, hence 

borne out. 
May waste the memory of the former days. 
More would I, but my lungs are wasted so 
Tliat strength of soeech is utterly denied me. 
How I came by the crown, O God forgive ; 
And grant it may with thee in true peace live ! 
Prince. My gracious liege, 221 

You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me ; 
Tlien plain and right must my possession be : 
Which I with more than witli a common pain 
'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain. 

Enter Lord John of Lancaster. 

King. Look, look, here comes my John of 

Lancaster. 
Lan. Health, peace, and happiness to ray 

royal father ! 
King. Thou bring' st me happiness and 
peace, son John ; 
But healtli, alack, witli youthful wings is flown 
Frona tliis bare witlier'd trunk : upon thy sight 
My worldly business makes a period. 231 

Where is my Lord of Warwick ? 
Pi'ince. My Lord of Warwick ! 

Enter Warwick, and others. 
King. Doth anv name particular belong 
Unto the lodging where I first did swoon 2^ 



War. 'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my uoble lord- 
King. Laud be to God ! even there my life 
must end. 
It hath been prophesied to me many years, 
I should not die but in Jeru.salem ; 
Which vainly I supposed the Holy Land : 239 
But bear me to that chamber ; there I'll lie ; 
In that Jerusalem shall Harry die . [Exettni 



ACT V. 

Scene I. Gloucestershire. Shallow's house. 
Enter Shallow, Falstaff, Bardolph, and 



Shal. By cock and pie, sir, you shall not 
away to-night. What, Davy, I say ! 

Fed. You must excuse me, Master Robert 
Shallow. 

Shed. I will not excuse you ; you shall not 
be excused ; excuses shall not be admitted ; 
there is no excuse shall serve ; you shall not 
be excused. Why, Davy ! 

Enter Davy. 

Davy. Here, sir. 9 

,S7ta;. Davy, Davy, Davy, Davy, let me see, 
Davy ; let me see, Davy ; let me see : yea, 
marry, William cook, bid him come hither. Sir 
Jolm, you shall not be excused. 

Davy. Marry, sir, thus ; tliose precepts can- 
not be served : and, again, sir, shall we sow 
the headland with wheat ? 

Shed. With red wheat, Davy. But for 
William cook : are there no young pigeons ? 

Davy. Yes, sir. Here is now the smith's note 
f.ir shoeing and plough- irons. 20 

,^7(((;. Let it be cast and paid. Sir John, 
you sliall not be excused. 

Davy. New, sir, a new link to the bucket 
must need be had : and, sir, do you mean to 
stop any of William's wages, about the saclohe 
lost the other day at Hinckley lair? 

Shal. A' shall answer it. .Some pigeons, 
Davy, a couple of short-legged hens, a joint of 
nuitton, and any pretty little tiny kickshaws, 
tell W^illiara cook. 30 

Davy. Doth the man of war stay all night, 
sir ? 

Shed. Yea, Davy. I will use him well : a 
friend i' the court is better than a penny in 
purse. Use his men well, Davy ; for they are 
arrant knaves, and will backbite. 

Davy. No worse than they are backbitten, 
sir ; for thev have marvellous foul linen. 

Shal. Well conceited, Davy : about thy 
business. Daw. 40 

Dcry. I beseech you, sir, to countenance 
William Visor of Woncot against Clement 
Perkes of the hill. 

.S7;«;. There is many complaints, Davy, 
against that Visor : that Visor is an arrant 
knave, on mv knowledge. 

l>avy. I graut your worship that he is a 



442 



KING HENRY IV. PART 11. 



[Act v. 



kuave, sir ; but yet, God forbid, sir, but. a 
knave should have some countenance at his 
friend's request. An honest man, sir, is able to 
spealc for himself, when a knave is not. I have 
served your worsliip truly, sir,tliis eight years ; 
and if I cannot once or twice in a quarter bear 
out a knave against an honest man, I have but 
a very little credit with your worship. The 
knave is mine lionest friend, sir ; therefore, I 
beseech your worship, let him be countenanced. 
Shal. Go to ; I say he shall have no wrong. 
Look about, Davy. [ExitDavij.'] Where are 
you, Sir John ? Come, come, come, off witli 
your boots. Give me your hand, ]Master Bar- 
dolph. 

Bard. I am glad to see your worship. 

Shal. I tliank thee with all my heart, Ijind 
Master Bardolph : and welcome, my tall fellow 
[to the I'afje]. Come, sir John. 

Fal. I'll follow you, good Master Robert 
Shallow. [Exit Shallow.] Bardolph, look to 
our horses. [Exomt Bardolph and Page.} If 
I were sawed into quantities, I should make 
four dozen of such bearded hermits' staves as 
Master Shallow. It is a wonderful thing to see 
the semblablt coherence of liis men's spirits 
and his : they, by observing of him, do bear 
themselves like foolish justices ; he, by con- 
versing with them, is turned into a justice- 
like serving-man : their spirits are so married 
m conjunction with tlie participation of society 
that they flock together in consent, lilce so 
many wild-geese. If I had a suit to Master 
Shallow, I would humor his men with tlie 
imputation of being near their master : if to 
liis men, I would curry with Master Shallow 
that no man could better coiiimand his servants. 
It is certain that either wise bearing or igno- 
rant carriage is caught, as men talce diseases, 
one of another : therefore let men take heed of 
their company. I will devise matter enough 
out of this Sliallow to keep Prince Harry in 
continual laugliter the wearing out of six 
fasliious, which is four terms, or two actions, 
and a' shall laugh without intervallums. 0,it is 
nmch that a lie withaslight oath and a jest with 
a sad brow will do with a fellow tliat never 
had the ache in his shoulders ! O, you shall 
see liim laugh till his face be like a wet cloak 
lU laid up ! 

Shal. [ Withui] Sir John ! 

Fal. I come, Master Shallow; I come, Mas- 
ter Shallow. [Exit. 

Scene II. Westminster. The palace. 

Enter ■\Vakwick and the Lokd Chief-Justice, 
meeting. 

War. How now, my lord chief- justice ! 

whither away ? 
Ch. Just. How doth the Idng ? 
War. Exceeding well ; liis cares are now 

all ended. 
Ch. Just. I hope, not dead. 
War. He's walk'd the way of nature ; 

And to our purposes he lives uo more. 



Ch. Just. I would his majesty had call'd 
me with him : 
The service that I truly did his life 
Hath left me open to all injuries. 

War. Indeed I think the young king loves 

you not. 
Ch. Just. I know he doth not, and do arm 
myself 10 

To welcome the condition of the time, 
AVhich cannot look more hideously upon me 
Than I have drawn it in my fantasy. 

Enter Lancaster, Clarence, Gloucester, 
VVestmokel.\nd, and others. 

War. Here come the heavy issue of dead 
Harry : 

that the living Harry had the temper 

Of him, the worst of these three gentlemen ! 
How many nobles then should hold their places 
That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort ! 
Ch. Just. O God, I fear all will be over- 
turn' d ! 
Lan. Good morrow, cousin Warwick, good 
morrow. 20 

Clar \ ^°°^ morrow, cousin. 

Lan. We meet like men that had forgot to 

speak. 
War. We do remember ; but our argument" 
Is all too heavy to admit much talk. 
Lan. Well, peace be with him that hatb 

made us lieavy ! 
Ch. Just. Peace be with us, lest we be 

heavier ! 
Glou. 0, good my lord, you have lost a 
friend indeed ; 
And I dare swear you borrow not that face 
Of seeming sorrow, it is sure your own. 
Lan. Though no man be assured what grace 
to find, ' 30 

You stand in coldest expectation : 

1 am the sorrier ; would 'twere otherwise. 

Clar. Well, you must now speak Sir John 
Falstaff fair ; 
Which swims against your stream of quality. 

Ch. Just. Sweet princes, what I did, I did 
in honor, 
Led by the impartial conduct of my soul : 
And never shall you see tliat I will beg 
A ragged and forestall'd remission. 
If trutli and uinlght innocency fail me, 
I'll to the king my master that is dead, 40 

And tell him who hath sent me after hi)n. 

War. Here comes the prince. 

Enter King Henrt the Fifth, attended. 

Ch. Just. Good morrow ; and God save 

your majesty ! 
King. This new and gorgeous garment, 
majesty, 
Sits not .so easj' on me as j'ou think. 
Brothers, you mix your sadness with some 

fear : 
Tins is tlie English, not the Turkish court ; 
Not Amurath an Amurath succeeds, 
]3ut Hurry Hariy. Yet be sad, good brothers, 



Scene hi.] 



KING HENRY IV. PART II. 



443 



For, by my faith, it very -well becomes you: 50 
tsorrow so royuUy in you appears 
Tliat I will deeply put the iashiou on 
And wear it in my heart : why then, be sad ; 
But entertain no more uf it, good brothers, 
Thau a joint burden laid upon us all. 
For me, by heaven, I bid you be assured, 
I'll oeyour father and your brother too ; 
Let me but bear your love, I'll bear your cares: 
Yet weep that Harry's dead ; and so will I ; 
Put Harry lives, that shall convert those tears 
By number into hours of happiness. (Jl 

Princes. We hope no other from your 

majesty. 
Kimj. You all look strangely on me : and 

you most ; 
You are, I think, assured I love you not. 
Ch. Just. I am assured, if 1 be measured 

rightly. 
Your majesty hath no just cause to hate me. 

ICinfj. No ! 
How might a prince of my great hopes forget 
So great indignities you laid upon me ? 
What ! rate, rebuke, and roughly send to 

prison 
The immediate heir of England ! AVas this 

easy ? 
May this be wash'd in Lethe, and forgotten ? 
C'h. Just. I then did use the person of your 

father ; 
The iuiage of his power lay then in me : 
And, in the administration of his law, 
Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth, 
Your highness pleased to forget my place, 
The majesty and power of law and justice, 
The image of the king whom I jiresented, 
And struck me in my very seat of judgment ; 
Whereon, as an offender to your father, 81 
I gave bold \\ ay to my authority 
And did commit you. If the deed were ill. 
Be you contented, wearing now the garland, 
To have a son set your decrees at nought, 
To i)luck down justice from your awful bench, 
To ti'ip the course of law and blunt the sword 
That guards the peace and safety of your per- 
son ; 
Nay, more, to spuni at your most royal image 
And mock your workings in a second body. 90 
Question your royal thoughts, make the case 

yours ; 
Be now the father and propose a son. 
Hear your own dignity so much profaned. 
See your most dreadful laws so loosely 

slighted, 
Behold yourself so by a son disdain'd ; 
And then iuiagine me taking your part 
And in your power soft silencing your son : 
After tl'.is cold considerance, sentence me ; 
And, as you are a king, speak in your state 
Wjiat I have done that misbeciime my place. 
My jicrsoii, or my liege's sovereignty. 101 

Kinij. You are right, justice, and you 

weigh this well ; 
Therefore still bear the balance and the 

sword : 
And I do wish your houors may increase, 



Till you do live to see a son of mine 
Olfeud you and obey you, as I did. 
So shall I live to speak my father's words : 
' Happy am I, that have a man so bold. 
That dares do justice on my proper son ; 
And not less happy, having such a son, 110 
That would deliver up his greatness so 
Into the hands of justice.' You did commit 

me : 
For which, I do connnit into your hand 
The unstained sword that you have used to 

bear ; [same 

With this remembrance, tliat you use the 
With the like bold, just and impartial spirit 
As you have done 'gainst me. There is my 

hand. 
You shall be as a father to my youth : 
My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine 

ear, 
And I will stoop and humble my intents 120 
To your well-practised wise diiections. 
And, princes all, believe me, I beseech you ; 
My father is gone wild into his grave, 
For in his tomb lie my afieitions ; 
And with his spirit sadly I sur\ ive. 
To mock tlie expectation of the world, 
To frustrate prophecies and to laze out 
Rotten oi)inion, who hath writ me down 
After uiy seeming. The tide of blood in me 
Hath proudly How'd in vanity till now : 130 
Now doth it "turn and ebb back to the sea. 
Where it shall mingle with the state of floods 
And flow henceforth in formal majesty. 
Now call we our high court of parliament : 
And let us choose such limbs of noble coun- 
sel, 
That the great body of our state may go 
In equal rank with the best govern'd nation ; 
That war, or peace, or both at once, may be 
As things acquainted and familiar to us ; 
In which you, father, shall luue foremost 

hand! 140 

Our coronation done, we w ill acciie, 
As I before remember'd, all our .^tate : 
And, God consigning to my good intents, 
No prince nor peer shall have just cause to 

.say, 
God shorten Harry's happy life one day ! 

\^Exeunt. 

Scene IIL Gloucestershire. Shallow's 
orchard. 

Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Silknce, Daw, 
B.^RDOLPH, and the Page. 

Shal. Nay, you shall see my orchard, 
where, in an arbor, we will eat a last year's 
pippin of my own grafting, Avith a dish of car- 
aways, and so forth: come, cousin Silence: 
and "then to bed. 

Fal. 'Fore God, j'ou have here a goodly 
dw elling and a rich. 

Shal. Barren, barren, barren ; beggars all, 
beggars all. Sir John : marry, good air. 
Spread, Davy ; spread, Davy : well said, 
Davy. 10 



Ui 



KING HENRY IV. PART IL 



[xVCT V, 



Fal. This Davy serves you for good uses ; 
he is your serving-man and your husband. 

Shal. A good varlet, a good varlet, a very 
good varlet, Sir Joliu : by the mass, I have 
drank too mucli sack at supper : a good var- 
let. Now sit down, now sit down : come, 
cousin. 

8il. Ah, sirrah ! quotli-a, we shall 
Do nothing but eat, and make good cheer, 

l^Slnr/iuii. 
And praise God for the merry year ; 
When flesh is clieap and females dear, 20 
And lusty lads i"oam here and there 

So merrily, 
And ever among so merrily. 
Fal. There's a merry heart ! Good Mas- 
ter Silence, I'll give you a health for that 
anon. 

Shal. Give Master Bardolph some wine, 
Davy. 

Davy. Sweet sir, sit ; I'll be with you anon; 
most sweet sir, sit. Master page, good master 
page, sit. Proface ! What you want in meat, 
we'll have in drink : but you must bear ; the 
heart's all. \_Exit. 

Shal. Be merry, Master Bardolph ; and, my 
little soldier there, be merry. 
Sil. Be merry, be merry, my wife has all ; 

[Singimi. 
For women are shrews, both short ami tail : 
'Tis merry in hall when beards wag a'l, 
And welcome merry Shrove-tide. 
Be merry, be merry. 
Fal. I did not think Master Silence had 
heen a man of this mettle. 41 

Sil. Who, I ? I have been merry twice and 
once ere now. 

Re-enter Davy. 

Davy. There's a dish of leather-coats for 
you. [To Bardolph. 

Shal. Davy ! 

Davy. Your worship ! I'll be with you 
straight [to Bardolph']. A cup of wine, sir ? 

Sil. A cup of wine that's l)risk and fine, 

[Singing. 
And drink unto the leman mine ; 

And a merry heart lives long-a. 50 

Fal. Well said, Master Silence. 

Sil. Au we shall be merry, now comes in 
the sweet o' the night. 

Fal. Health and long life to you, Master 
Sileuce. 

Sil. Fill the cup, and let it come ; [Singing. 
I'll pledge you a mile to the bottom. 

Slial. Honest Bardolph, welcome : if thou 
wantest any thing, and wilt not call, beshrew 
t!iy heart. Welcouie, my little tiny thief [to 
the Page], and welcome indeed too. I'll drink 
to Master Bardolph, and to all the cavalei-os 
about Loudon. 

Davy. I hope to see London once ere I die. 

Bard. An I might see you there, Davy, — 

Shal. By the mass, you'll crack a quart to- 
gether, ha ! will you not, INIaster Bardolph ? 

Bard, Yea, sir, iu a pottle-pot. 



Shal. By God's hggens, I thank thee : the 
knave will stick by thee, I can assure thee 
that. A' will not out ; he is true bred. 71 
Bard. And I'll stick by him, sir. 
Shal. Why, there spoke a king. Lack 
nothing : be merry. [Knocking within.] Look 
who's at door there, ho ! who knocks ? 

[Exit Davy. 
Fal. Why, now you have done me right. 

[To Silence, seeing him take off a bumper. 
Sil. Do me right, [Singing. 

And dub me knight : 
Samingo. 
Is't not so ? 80 

Fal. 'Tis so. 

Sil. Is't so ? Why then, say an old man 
can do somewhat. 

Re-enter Davy 

Davy. An't please your worship, there's 
one Pistol come from the court with news. 

Fal. From the court ! let him come in 
Enter Pistol 
How now. Pistol ! 

Fist. Sir John, God save you ! 

Fal. What wind blew you hither. Pistol ? 

Pist. Not the ill wind which blows no man 
to good. Sweet knight, thou art now one of 
the greatest men in this realm. 

Sil. By'r lady, I think a' be, but goodman 
Puff of Barson. 

Pist. Puff ! 
Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base! 
Sir John, I am thy Pistol and thy friend, 
And helter-skelter have I rode to thee. 
And tidings do I bring and lucky joys 
And golden times and happy news of price 

Fal. I pray thee now, deliver them like a 
man of this world. 101 

Pist. A foutre for the world and worldlings 
base ! 
I speak of Africa and golden joys. 

Fal. O base Assyrian knight, what is thy 
news ? 
Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof. 

Sil. And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John. 

[Singing. 

Pist. Shall dunghill curs confront tlie 
Helicons ? 
And shall good news be baffled ? 
Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap. 110 

Sil. Honest gentleman, I luiow not your 
breeding. 

Pist. Wliy then, lament therefore. 

Shal. Give me pardon, sir : if, sir, you 
come with news from the court, I take it 
there's but two ways, either to utter them, or 
to conceal them. 1 am, sir, under the king, iu 
some authority. 

Pist. Under which king, Besonian ? speak, 
or die. 

Shal. Under King Ilarrv. 

Pist. Harry the Fourth ? or Fifth ? 

Shal. Harry the Fourth. 

Pist. A foutre for thine office ! 120 

Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is king • 



Scene v. 



KTNG ffSXRY IV. PART 11. 



445 



Harry the Fifth's the man. I speak the 

truth : 
When Pistol lies, do this ; and fig me, like 
The bragging Spaniard. 
Fed. What, is the old king dead ? 
Fist. As nail in door : the things I speak 

are just. 

Fal. Away, Bardolph ! saddle my horse. 

Master Robert Shallow, choose what ottice 

thou wilt in tlie land, 'tis thine. Pistol, I will 

double-charge thee with dignities. 130 

Bard. O joyful day ! 
I would not take a knighthood for my for- 
tune. 
Fist. What ! I do bring good news. 
Fill. Carry Master Silence to bed. Master 
Shallow, my Lord Shallow, — be what thou 
wilt ; I am fortune's steward — get on thy 
boots : we'll ride all night. O sweet Pistol ! 
Away, Bardolph ! [Exit Bard.~\ Come, Pis- 
tol, utter more to me ; and withal devise 
something to do thyself good. Boot, boot. 
Master Shallow : I know^ the young king is 
sick for me. Let us take any man's horses ; 
the laws of England ai-e at mj- command- 
ment. Blessed are thej' that have been my 
friends ; and woe to mj'' lord chief-justice ! 
Fist. Let vultures vile seize on his lungs 
also ! 
' Where is the life that late I led ? ' say they : 
W^hy, here it is ; welcome these pleasant 
days ! [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. London. A street. 

Enter Beadles, dragi/ing in Hostess Quick- 
ly and Doll 'Ie.^r.sheet. 

Host. No, thou ari"ant knave ; I would to 
God that I might die, that 1 might have thee 
hanged : thou hast drawn my shoulder out of 
joint. 

First Bead. The constables have delivered 
her over to me ; and she shall have whipiiing- 
cheer enough, I warrant lier : there hath been 
a man or two lately killed about her. 

JJol. Nut-hook, nut-hooJc, you lie. Come 
on ; I'll tell thee what, thou damned tripe- 
visaged rascal, an the child I now go with do 
miswirry, thou wert better thou hadst struck 
thy mother, thou paper-faced villain. 

Host. O the Lord, that Sir John were come! 
he would make this a bloody day to somebody. 
But I pray God the fruit of her womb mis- 
carry ! 

First Bead. If it do, you shall have a dozen 
of cushions again ; you have but eleven now. 
Come, I charge you both go with me ; for the 
man is dead that you and Pistol beat amongst 
you. 

Dol. I'll tell you wiiat, you thin man in a 
censer, I will have you as soundly swinged for 
this, — you bhie-bottle rogue, you filthy fam- 
ished correctiouer, if you be not swinged, I'll 
forswear half-kirtles. 

First Bead. Come, corae, you she knight- 
errant, cume, 



Ho.?t. God, that right should thus over- 
come might ! Well, of sufferance comes ease. 

Dol. Come, you rogue, come ; bring me to 
a justice. 30 

Host. Ay, come, you starved blood-hound. 

iJol. Goodman death, goodman bones ! 

Host. Thou atomy, thou ! 

Bol. Come, you thin thing ; come, you 
rascal. 

First Bead. Very weU. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. A public place near Westminster 

Abbey. 

Enter tioo Grooms, strewing rushes. 

First Groom. More rushes, more rushes. 

Sec. Groom,. The trumpets have sounded 

twice. 

First Groom. 'Twill be two o'clock ere they 
come from the coronation : dispatch, dispatch. 

[Exeunt. 
Enter YxhsTAFF, Shallow, Pistol, Bar- 
dolph, and Page. 

Fal. Stand here by me. Master Robert Shal- 
low; I will make the king do you grace: I will 
leer upon him as a' comes by ; and do but mark 
the countenance that he will give me. 

Fist. God bless thy lungs, good knight. 9 

Fal. Come here. Pistol ; stand behind me. 
O, if I had had time to have made new liveries, 
I would have bestowed the thousand pound I 
borrowed of you. But 'tis no matter ; this 
poor show doth better: this doth infer the zeal 
I had to see him. 

Shal. It doth so. 

Fal. It shows my earnestness of affection, — 

Shal. It doth so. 

Fal. My devotion, — 

Shal. It doth, it doth, it doth. 20 

Fal. As it were, to ride day and night; and 
not to deliberate, not to remember, not to have 
patience to shift me, — 

^7i«^. It is best, certain. 

Fal. But to stand stained with travel, and 
sweating with desire to see him ; thinking of 
nothing else, putting all affairs else in oblivion, 
as if there were nothing else to be done but to 
see him. 29 

Fist. 'Tis ' semper idem,' for ' obsque hoc 
nihil est : ' 'tis all in every part. 

Shal. 'Tis so, indeed. [liver. 

Fist. My knight, I will inflame thj- noble 
And make tiiee rage. 

Tliy Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts, 
Is in base durance and contagious prison ; 
Haled thither 

By most mechanical and dirty hand : 
Rouse n\) revenge from ebon den with fell 
Alecto's snake, ?.<) 

For Doll is in. Pistol speaks nought but truth. 

Fal. I will deliver her. 

[Shouts within, and the trumpets sound. 

Fist There roar'd the sea, and trunipet- 
clangor sounds. 
Enter the Kino and his train, the Lord CmEK- 
JusTiCE among them- 



446 



KING ^ENRY ir. PART 11. 



[Act v. 



Fed. God save thy grace, King Hal ! my 
royal Hal ! 

Put. The heavens thee guard and keep, 
most royal imp of fame ! 

Fal. God save thee, my sweet boy ! 

King. Mj' lord chief- justice, speak to tliat 
vain man. 

Ch. Just. Have you your wits ? know you 
what 'tis to speak ? 

Fal. My liing ! my Jove ! I speak to tliee, 
my heart ! 50 

King. I know thee not, old man : fall to 
thy prayers ; 
How ill white hairs become a fool and jester ! 
I have long dreani'd of such a kind of man. 
So surfeit-swell'd, so old and so profane ; 
But, being awaked, I do despise my dream. 
Make less tliy body hence, and more thy grace; 
Leave gormandizing; know the giave dotli gape 
For thee thrice wider tlian for otlier men. 
Reply not to me with a fool-born jest : 
Presume not that I am the thing I was ; 60 
IFor God doth know, so shall the world per- 
ceive, 
Tliat I have turn'd away my former self ; 
So will I those that kept me company. 
Wlien thou dost hear I am as I have been, 
Approach me, and thou shalt be as thou wast, 
Tlie tutor and the feeder of my riots : 
Till then, I banish tliee, on pain of death. 
As I have done tlie rest of my misleaders, 
Not to come near our person by ten mile. 
For competence of life 1 will allow you, 70 
That lack of means enforce you not to evil : 
And, as we hear you do reform yourselves, 
We will, according to your strengtlis and qual- 
ities, [my lord. 
Give you advancement. Be it your charge. 
To see perforni'd the tenor of our word. 
Set on. [^Exeunt King, &c. 

Fal. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand 
pound. 

Shal. Yea, marry. Sir John ; which I be- 
seech you to let me have home with me. 80 

Fal. That can hardly be. Master Shallow. 
Do not you grieve at this ; I shall be sent for 
in private to him : look you, he must seem 
thus to the world : fear not your advance- 
ments ; I will be the man yet that shall make 
you great. 

Shal. I cannot well perceive how, unless 
you should give me your doublet and stuff me 
out with straw. I beseech you, good Sir John, 
let me have five hundred of my thousand. 

Fal. Sir, I will be as good as my word : this 
that you heard was but a color. 91 

Shal. A color that I fear you will die iji, 
Sir John. 

Fal. Fear no colors ; go with me to dinner : 
come. Lieutenant Pistol ; come, Bardolph: I 
ehall be sent for soon at night. 

Re-enter Prince John, the Lord Chikf- 
JusTiCE ; Officers loith them. 

Ch. Just. Go, carry Sir Jolm Falstaff to the 
Fleet : 



Take all his company along with him. 
Fal. My lord, my lord, — 
Ch. Just. I cannot now speak: I will hear 
you soon. 100 

Take thon away. 
n.-^t. Si fortuna me tormenta, spero con- 
tenta. 

[^Exeunt all hut P^'ince John and tlie 
Chief-Justice. 
Iaui. I like this fair proceedmg of the king's : 
He hath intent his wonted followers 
Shall all be very well provided for ; 
But all are banish'd till their conversations 
Appear more wise and modest to the world. 
Ch. Just. And so they are. [my lord. 

Lan. The kiug hath call'd his parliament, 
Ch. Ju.'it. He iiath. 110 

Lan. I will lay odds that, ere this year ex- 
pire, 
AVe bear our civil swords and native fire 
As far as France: I heard a bird so sing, 
A\'hose music, to my thinking, pleased the king. 
Come, will you hence ? [Exeunt. 



EPILOGUE, 



Spoken by a Dancer. 

First my fear ; then my courtesy ; last my 
speech. My fear is, your displeasure ; my 
courtesy, my duty ; and my speech, to beg 
your pardons. If you look for a good speech 
now, you undo me : for what I have to say is 
of mine own making ; and what indeed I should 
say will, I doubt, prove mine own marring. 
But to the purpose, and so to the venture. Be 
it known to you, as it is very well, I was lately 
here in the end of a displeasing play, to pray 
your patience for it and to promise you a bet- 
ter. I meant indeed to pay you with this ; 
which, if like an ill venture it come unluckily 
home, I break, and you, my gentle creditors, 
lose. Here I promised you I would be and 
here I commit my body to your mercies : bate 
me some and I will pay you some and, as most 
debtors do, promise you infinitely. 

If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit 
me, will you command me to use my legs ? 
and yet that were but light payment, to dance 
out of your debt. But a good conscience wiU 
make any possible satisfaction, and so would 
I. All the gentlewomen here have forgiven 
me : if the gentlemen will not, then the gen tie- 
men do not agree with the gentlewomen, which 
was never seen before in such an assembly. 

One word more, I beseech you. If you be 
not too much cloyed with fat meat, our humble 
author will continue the story, with Sir John 
in it, and make you merry with fair Katharine • 
of France : where, for any thing I know, Fal- 
staff shall die of a sweat, unless already a' be 
killed with your hard opinions ; for Oldcastle 
died a martyr, and this is not the man. My 
tongue is weary ; when my legs are too, I will 
bid you good night : and so kneel down before 
you ; but, indeed, to pray for the queen. 



KING HENRY Y. 



(WKITTEX ABOUT 1599.) 



IXTE.ODUCTION. 

This play is not mentioned by IVIeres, and tlie reference in the chorus of Act V. to Essex in Iro- 
land, ar.d in the Prologue to " this woouen O," i.e. the Globe Theatre, built in 1599, make it probable 
tnat lo; J was the date of its jnoductioa. A pirated imperfect quarto appeared iu the following year, 
lu this play Shakespeare bade farewell in trumpet tones to the history of England. It was a titling 
climax to the great series of works which told of the sorrow and the glory of his country, embody- 
ing as it did the purest patriotism of the da\ s of Elizabeih- And as tLe noblest glories of England 
cie presented iu this play, so it presents Shakespeare's ideal of active, practical, heroic manhood. 
If Hamlet exliibits the dangers and weakness of the contemplative nature, and Prospero, its 
calm and its conquest, Henry exhibits the utmost greatness which the active nature can attain. He 
IS not an astute politician liAe his father ; having put every thing upon a sound substantial basis ho 
/>eed not strain anxious eyes of foresight to discern and provide for contingencies arising out of 
tioubtf ul deeds ; for all that naturally comes w ithiu its range he has an unerring eye. A devotion 
to great objects outside of self fills him with a force of glorious enthusiasm. Hence his religious 
spirit and his humility or modesty— he feels that the strength he wields comes not from-any clever 
disposition of forces due to his own prudence, but streams into him and through him from his 
pjople, his countrv, his cause, his God. He can be tcrrilde to traitors, and his sternness is_ without 
a touch of personal revenge. In the midst of dantier he can feel so free from petty heart-eating cans 
rs to enjoy apiece of honest, soldierly mirth. His wooing is as plain, frank, and true as are^ bis acts 
cf piety. He unites around himself in loyal service, the jarring nationalities of his father's time— 
l:nglishmen, Scotchiiien, Welshmen, Irishmen, all are at Henrv's side at Agincourt. Having pre- 
sented his ideal of English kingho(.d, Shakespeare could turn aside from history. In this play r.o 
character except Henry greatly interested Shakespeare, unless it be the Welsh Fluellen, whom he 
loves (as Scott loved the Baron of Bradwardine) for his real Bimplicity tmderlying his apparatus of 
learning, and his touching faith in the theory of warfare. 



DRAMATIS PERSOXiE. 



brothers to the Kinj 



KixG Hexrt the Fifth. 

DCKE OF GlOCCESTER, 

Duke of Bedford, 

Dl'ke of Exeter, tiiicle to the King. 

Duke of York, cousin to the King. 

Earls of Salisbury, Westmokeland, and 

Warwick. 
Archblshop of Canterbury. 
Bishop of Ely. 
Eakl of Cambridge. 
Lord Scroop. 
Sir Thomas Grey. 
Sir Thomas ERPixGiiAjr, Gower, Fluellex, 

Macmorris, Jamy, officers in King 

Henry's army. 
Bates, Court, Williams, soldiers in the 

same. 
Pistol, Nym, B-Ajidolpu. 
Boy. 
A ilerald. 



Charles the Sixth, King of France. 
Lewis, the Dauphin. 

Dukes of Burgundy, Orleans, and Bour- 
bon. 
The Constable of France. 
Rajiijures and Grandpre, French Lords. 
Governor of Harlleur. 
jMontjoy, a French Herald. 
Ambassadors to the King of England. 

Isabel, Qneen of France. 
Katharine, daughter to Charles and IsabeL 
Alice, a lady attending on her. 
Hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap, formerly 
Mistress Quickly, and now married to 
Pistol. 
Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Citizens, Mes- 
sengers, and Attendants. 
Chorus. 
Scene : England ; afterwards France. 



448 



KTNQ HENRY V. 



[Act I. 



PROLOGUE. 

Entir Chorus. 
Chor. O for a Muse of fire, that would as- 
cend 
The brightest lieaveu of iuventiou, 
A Icingdom for a stage, princes to act 
And nionarchs to behold the swelling scene ! 
Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, 
Assume the port of Mars ; and at his lieels, 
Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword 

and fire 
Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles 

all. 
The flat unraised spirits that have dared 
On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth 10 
So great an object : can this cockpit liold 
Tlie vasty fields of France ? or may we cram 
"Within this wooden O the very casques 
That did affright the air at Agincourt ? 
O, pardon ! since a crooked figure may 
Attest in little i)lace a million ; 
And let us, ciphers to this great accompt. 
On your imaginary forces work. 
Suppose within the girdle of these walls 
Are now confined two miglity monarchies, 20 
Whose liigh upreared and abutting fronts 
The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder : 
Piece out our imxjerfections with your 

thouglits ; 
Into a thousand parts divide one man, 
And make imaginary puissance ; 
Think when we talk of horses, that you see 

them 
Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving 

earth ; 
For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our 

kings. 
Carry them here and there ; jumping o'er 

times. 
Turning the accomplishment of many years 30 
Into an liour-glass : for the which supply. 
Admit me Chorus to tliis history ; 
Who prologue-like your humble patience pray. 
Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play. 

[Exit. 



ACT I. 



Scene I. 



London. An ante-chamber in the 
King's iKilace. 

Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury, and 
the Bishop of Ely. 
Cant. My lord, I'll tell you ; that self bill 
is urged. 
Which in the eleventh year of the last king's 

reign 
Was like, and had indeed against us pass'd. 
But that the scambling and unquiet time 
Did push it out of farther question. 
Ely. But how, my lord, shall we resist it 

now? 
Cant. It must be thought on. If it pass 
against ua, 



We lose tlie better half of our possession : 
For all the temporal lands which men devout 
By testament have given to the cliurch 10 

Would they strip from us ; being valued thus : 
As much as would maintain, to the king's 

honor, 
Full fifteen earls and fifteen hundred knights, 
Six thousand and two hundred good esquires : 
And, to relief of lazars and weali age. 
Of indigent faint souls past corporal toil, 
A hunclred almshouses right well supplied ; 
And to the coffers of the king beside, 
A thousand pounds by the year : thus runs 

the bill. 
Ely. This would drink cV. ep. 
Cant. 'Twould drink the cup and all. 20 
Eli/. But what prevention ? 
Ca7H. The king is full of grace and fair re- 
gard. 
Ebj. And a true lover of the holy church. 
Cant. The courses of his youth promised if: 

not. 
Tlie breath no sooner left his father's body. 
But that liis wildness, mortified in him, 
Seem'd to die too ; yea, at that very moment 
Consideration, lilce an angel, came 
And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him, 
Leaving his body as a paradise, 30 

To envelop and contain celestial spirits. 
Never was such a sudden scholar made : 
Never came reformation in a flood, 
With such a heady currance, scouring faults ; 
Nor never Hydra-lieaded wilfulness 
So soon did lose his seat and all at once 
As in this king. 
Ely. We are blessed in the change. 

Cant. Hear him but reason in divinity, 
And all-admiring with an inward wish 
You would desire the king were made a 

prelate : 40 

Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs, 
You would say it hath been all in all his 

study : 
List his discourse of war, and you .shall hear 
A fearful battle render'd you in music : 
Turn him to any cause of policy. 
The Gordian knot of it he will unloose, 
Familiar as his garter : that, when he speaks, 
The air, a charter'd libertine, is still. 
And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears, 
To steal his sweet and honey'd sentences ; 50 
So that the art and piactic part of life 
Mn«t be the mistress to tliis theoric : 
Which is a wonder how his grace should glean 

it, 
Since his addiction was to courses vani. 
His compaiiies unletter'd, rude and shallow. 
His hours fill'd up with riots, banquets, sports, 
And never noted in him any study, 
Any retirement, any sequestration 
From open li aunts and popularitj'. 
Ely. The strawberry grows underneath the 

nettle 60 

And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best 
Neiglibor'd by fruit of baser quality : 
And so the prince obscured his contemplation 



P-ri:vE Ti] 



KTNG HENRY V. 



4^ a 



Under the veil of wilduess ; which, no doubt, 
Grew like the summer grass, fastest jjy night, 
Unseen, yet crescive in his I'aciiltj-. 

Canl. It must be so ; for mimples are 
ceased ; 
And therefore we must needs admit the means 
How tilings are perfected. 

Elij. But, my good lord, 

liow now for mitigation of this bill 70 

Urged by the commons ? Doth his majesty 
Incline to it, or no ? 

Cant. He seems indifferent, 

Or rather swaying more upon our part 
Than cherishing the exhibiters against us ; 
For I have made an offer to his majesty. 
Upon our spiritual convocation 
And in regard of causes now in liand, 
Which I nave open'd to his grace at large, 
As touching France, to give a greater sum 
Than ever at one time the clergy yet 80 

Did to his predecessors i)art withal. 

Ely. How did this offer seem received, my 
lord ? 

Cant. With good acceptance of his majesty ; 
Save that there was not time enough to hear, 
As I perceived his grace would fain have done, 
The severals and unhidden passages 
Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms 
And generally to the crown and seat of France 
Derived from Edward, his great-grandfather. 

Ely. What was the impediment that broke 
this off ? 90 

Cant. The French ambassador upon that 
instant 
Craved audience ; and the hour, I think, is 

come 
To give him hearing: is it four o'clock ? 

Ebj. It is. 

Cant. Then go we in, to know his embassy ; 
Which I could with a ready guess declare. 
Before the Frenchman speak a word of it. 

Ely. I'll wait upon you, and I long to hear 
it. \Exeunt. 

Scene II. Tlie same. Tlie Presence chamber. 

Enter King Henry, Gloucester, Bedford, 
Exeter, Warwick, Westmoreland, and 
Attendants. 
K. Hen. Where is my gracious Lord of 

Canterbury ? 
Exe. Not here in presence. 
K. lien. Send for him, good uncle. 

West. Shall we call in the ambassador, my 

liege? 
K. Hen. Not yet, my cousin : we would be 
resolved, 
Before we hear him, of some things of weight 
That task our thoughts, concerning us and 

France. 
Enter tlie Archbishop of Canterbury, and 
the Bishop of Ely. 

Cant. God and his angels guard your 
sacred throne 
And make you long become it ! 
K. Hen. Sure, we thank you. 



My learned lord, we pray you to proceed 
And justly and religiously unfold 10 

AVliy the law Salic] ue that they have in Franca 
Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim ; 
And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord. 
That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your 

reading. 
Or nicely charge your understanding soul 
With opening titles miscreate, whose right 
Suits not in native colors with the truth ; 
For God doth know how many now in health 
Shall drop their blood in apjirobation 
Of what your reverence shall incite us to. 2(! 
Tiierefore take heed how you impawn our per- 
son, 
How you awake our slee]iing sword of war : 
We charge you, in the name of God, take heed ; 
For ne\ er two such kingdoms did contend 
Without much fall of blood ; whose guiltless 

drops 
Are every one a woe, a sore complaint 
'Gainst him whose wrong gives edge unto the 

swords 
That make such waste in brief mortality. 
Under this conjuration, s|)eak, my lord ; 
For we will hear, note and believe in heart 
That what you speak is in your conscience 

wasli'd 31 

As pure as sin with baptism. 

Cant. Then hear me, gracious sovereign, 

and you peers. 
That owe yourselves, your lives and services 
To this imiierial throne. There is no bar 
To make against your highuess'claim to France 
But this, which they produce from Pharamond, 
'In teriam Salicam mulieres ne succedant:' 
' No woman shall succeed in Salique land : ' 
Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze 
To be the realm of France, and Pharamoud 41 
The founder of this law and female bar. 
Yet their own authors faithfully atfirm 
That the land Salique is in Geiniany, 
Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe ; 
AVliere Charles the Great, having subdued the 

Saxons, 
There left behind and settled certain French ; 
Who, holding in disdain the German women 
For some dishonest manners of their life, 
Establish'd then this law; to wit, no female 50 
Should bo inheritrix in Salique land : 
Which Salique, as I said, 'twixtElbe and Sala, 
Is at this day in Germany eall'd Meiseu. 
Then doth it well appear that Salique law 
Wa.s not devised for the realm of France : 
Nor did the French possess the Salique land 
Until four hundred one and twenty years 
After defunction of King Pharamond, 
Idly supposed the founder of this law ; 
Who died within the year of our redemption 
Four hundred twenty-six ; and Charles the 

Great (il 

Subdued the Saxons, and did seat tke FrenoJi 
Beyond the river Sala, in the year 
Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say, 
King Pei)in, which deposed Childeric, 
Did, as heir general, being descended 

29 



450 



KING HENEY V. 



[Act 1. 



0{ Blithild, which was daughter to King Cln- 

thair, 
Make claim and title to the crown of France. 
Hugh Capet also, who usurped the crown 
Of Charles the duke of Lorraine, sole heir 

male 70 

Of the true line and stock of Charles the Grout, 
To find his title with some shows of truth, 
Though, in pure truth, it was corrupt and 

naught, 
Convey'd himself as heir to the Lady Lingare, 
Daugliter to Charleraain, who was the son 
To Lewis tlie emperor, and Lewis the son 
Of Charles the Great. Also King Lewis the 

Tenth, 
Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet, 
Could not keep quiet in his conscience, 
Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied 80 
That fair Queen Isabel, his grandmother, 
Was lineal of the Lady Ermengare, 
Daughter to Charles the foresaid duke of Lor- 
raine : 
By the which marriage the line of Charles the 

Great 
Was re-united to the crown of France. 
So that, as clear as is the summer's sun, 
King Pepin's title and Hugh Capet's claim. 
King Lewis his satisfaction, all apjjear 
To hold in right and title of the female : 
So do the kings of France unto this day ; DO 
Ilowbeit they would hold up this Salique law 
To bar your highness claiming from the female, 
And rather choose to hide them in a net 
Than amply to imbar their crooked titles 
Usurp'dfrom you and your progenitors. 
X. Hen. May I with right and conscience 

make this claim ? 
Cant. The sin upon my head, dread sover- 
eign ! 
For in the book of Numbers is it writ. 
When the man dies, let the inheritance 99 

Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord, 
Stand for your own ; unwind your bloody flag ; 
Look back into your mighty ancestors : 
Go, my dread lord, to your great-grandsire's 

tomb. 
From whom you claim ; invoke his warlike 

spirit. 
And your great-uncle's, Edward the Black 

Prince, 
WIio on tlie French ground play'd a tragedy. 
Making defeat on the full power of France, 
Whiles his most mighty father on a hill 
Stood smiling to behold his lion's whelp 
Forage in blood of Frencli nobility. 110 

O noble English, that could entertain 
With half their forces the full pride of France 
And let another half stand laughing by. 
All out of work and cold for action ! 
Ebj. Awake remembrance of these vali.ant 

dead 
And with your puissant arm renew their feats : 
You are their heir ; you sit upon their throne; 
The blood and courage that renowned them 
Runs in your veins ; and my thrice- puissant 

liege 



Is in tlie very May -morn of his youth, 120 
Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprises. 
Uxe. Your brother kings and mouarchs of 

the earth 
Do all expect that you should rouse yourself. 
As did the former lions of your blood. 

West. They know your grace hath can. > 

and means and might ; 
So hath your highness ; never king of England 
Had nobles richer and more loyal subjects, 
AVhose hearts have left their bodies her-^ in 

England 
And lie pRvilion'd in the fields of France. 
Cant. 0, let their bodies follow, my dear 

liege, 130 

With blood and sword and fire to win your 

right ; 
In aid whereof we of the spiritualty 
Will raise your highness such a mighty sum 
As never did the clergy at one time 
Bring in to any of your ancestors. 
K. Hen. We must not only arm to invade 

the French, 
But lay down our pi"oportions to defend 
Ag.'iinst tlie Scot, who will make road upon us 
AVith all advantages. 

Cant. They of those marches, gracious 

sovereign, 140 

Shall be a wall sufficient to defend 
Our inland from the pilfering borderers. 
K. Hen. We do not mean the coursing 

snatch ers only, 
But fear the main intendment of the Scot, 
Who hatli been still a giddy neighbor to us ; 
For j-oii shall read that my great-grandfather 
Never went with his forces into France 
But that the Scot on his unfurnish'd kingdom 
Came pouring, like the tide into a breach. 
With ample and brim fulness of his force, 150 
Galling tlie gleaned land with hot assays. 
Girding with grievous siege castles and towns; 
That England, being empty of defence. 
Hath shook and trembled at the ill neighbor- 
hood. 
Cant. She hath been then more fear'd than 

harm'd, my liege ; 
For liear her but examjiled by herself : 
When all her chivalry hath been in France 
And she a mourning widow of her nobles, 
She hatli herself not only well defended 
But taken and impounded as a stray ICO 

The King of Scots ; whom she did send to 

France, 
To fill King Edward's fame with prisoner kings 
And make her chronicle as rich with praise 
As is the ooze and bottom of the sea 
With sunken wreck and sunless treasuries. 
West. But there's a saying very old aJid 

true, 

' If that you will France Avin, 
Then with Scotland first begin : 
For once the eagle England being in prej^, 
To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot 170 
Conies sneaking and so sucks her princely eggs, 
Playing the mouse in .'ibsence of the cat. 
To tear and havoc more than she cau eat. 



Scene ji.] 



KING HENRY V. 



451 



Exe. It follows then the cat must stay at 

home : 
Yet that is but a crush' d necessity, 
Since we liave locks to safeguard necessaries, 
^Vnd pretty traps to catch the petty thieves. 
While thai the armed hand doth tight abroad. 
The advised head defends itself at home ; 
For goverumeut, though high aud low and 

lower, 180 

Put into parts, doth keep in one consent, 
Congreeing in a full and natural close, 
Like music. 

Cant. Therefore doth heaven divide 
The state of man in divers functions. 
Setting endeavor in continual motion ; 
To which is fixed, as an aim or butt, 
Obedience : for so work the honey-bees, 
Creatures tliat by a rule iu nature teaeh 
The act of order to a peopled kingdom. 
They have a king aud offtcers of sorts ; 190 
Where some, like magistrates, correct at home. 
Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad, 
Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, 
Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds. 
Which pillage they with merry march bring 

home 
To the tent-royal of their emperor ; 
Who, busied in his majesty, surveys 
The singing masons building roofs of gold, 
The civil citizens kneading up the honey. 
The poor mechanic poiters crowding in 200 
Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate. 
The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum, 
Delivering o'er to executors pale 
The lazy yawning drone. I this infer, 
That many things, having full reference 
To one consent, may work contrariously 
As many arrows, loosed several ways. 
Come to one mark ; as many ways meet in one 

town ; 
As many fresh streams meet in one salt sea ; 
As many lines close in the dial's centre ; 210 
So may a thousand actions, once afoot. 
End in one purpose, and be all well borne 
Without defeat. Therefore to France, my 

liege. 
Divide your happy England into four ; 
Whereof fcike you one quarter into France, 
And you withal shall make all Gallia shake. 
If we, with thrice such powers left at home. 
Cannot defend our own doors from the dog. 
Let us be worried and our nation lose 
The name of hardiness and policy. 220 

A". Hcu. Call in the messengers sent from 

tlie Dauphin. [Exeunt some Attendantx. 
Now are we well resolved ; and, by God's help. 
And yours, the noble sinews of our power, 
France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe. 
Or break it all to pieces : or tliere we'll sit. 
Ruling in large aud ample empery 
O'er France and all her almost kingly duke- 
doms. 
Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn, 
Tombless, with no remembrance over them : 
Either our history shall with full nioutli 230 
Speak freely of our actS; or else our grave. 



Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueiess 

mouth, 
Not worshipp'd with a waxen epitaph. 

Etiter Ambassadors of France. 

Now are we well prepared to know the pleas- 
ure 
Of our fair cousin Dauphin ; for we hear 
Your greeting is from him, not from the king. 
First Amb. May't please your majesty to 

give us leave 
Freely to render what we have in charge ; 
Or shall we sparingly show you far off 
Thi Dauphin's meaning and our embassy ? 240 
K. Hen. We are no tyrant, but a Christian 

king ; 
Unto whose grace our passion is as subject 
As are our wretches fetter'd in our prisons : 
Therefore with frank and with imcurbed 

plainness 
Tell us the Dauphin's mind. 

First Ainb. Thus, then, in few. 

Your highness, lately sending into France, 
Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right 
Of your great predecessor. King Edward the 

Third. 
In answer of which claim, the prince our master 
Says that you savor too much of your youth. 
And bids you be advised there's nought iu 

France 251 

That can be with a nirtible galliard won ; 
You cannot revel into dukedoms there. 
He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit. 
This tun of treasure ; and, in lieu of this. 
Desires you let the dukedoms that you claim 
Hear no more of you. This the Dauphin 

speaks. 
K. Hen. What treasure, uncle t 
Exe. Teunis-balls, my liege. 

K. Hen. We are glad the Dauphin is so 

pleasant with us ; 
His present and your pains we thank you for : 
When we have march'd our rackets to these 

balls, 261 

We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set 
Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard. 
Tell him he hath made a match with such a 

wrangler 
That all the courts of France will be disturb'd 
With cliaees. Aud we understand him well. 
How he comes o'er us w ith our wilder days. 
Not measuring what use we made of them. 
We never valued this poor seat of England ; 
Aud thereiore, living hence, did giveourself 
To barbarous license ; as 'tis ever common 
That men are merriest when tliey are fron: 

home. 
But tell the Dauphin I will keep my state, 
Be like a king aud show mj' sail of greatness 
When I do rouse me in my throne of France : 
For tliat I have laid by my majesty 
And plodded like a man for working-days. 
But I will rii^e there with so full a glory 
That I will dazzle all the eyes of France, 279 
Yea. .strike the Danpliin blmd to look on us. 
And tell the pleasant prince this mock of his 



452 



KING HENRY V. 



[Act II. 



Hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones ; and his 

soul 
Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful ven- 
geance 
That shall fly with them : for many a thon- 

saiid widows 
Shall this his mock mock out of their dear 

husbands ; 
Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles 

down ; 
And some are yet ungotten and unborn 
That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's 

scorn. 
Bat this lies all within the will of God, 
To wlioin I do appeal ; and in whose name 
Toll you tlie Dauphin I am coming on. 
To venge me as I may and to put forth 
My rigiitful hand in a well-hallo w'd cause. 
So get you hence in peace ; and tell the 

Dauphin 
His jest will savor but of shallow wit, 
When thousands weep more than did laugh at 

it. 
Co'.ivey them with safe conduct. Fare you 
well. [Exeunt Ambassadors. 

Er.e. This was a merry message. 
K. H/'ti. We hope to make the sender blush 
at it. 
Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour 300 
That may give furtherance to our expedition ; 
For we have now no thouglit in us but France, 
Snve those to God, that run before our busi- 
ness. 
Therefore let our proportions for these wars 
Be soon collected and all things tliought upon 
That may with reasonable swiftness add 
More feathers to our wings ; for. God before. 
We'll chide this Dauphin at nis father's door. 
Therefore let every man now task his thought, 
That this fair action may on foot be brought. 
[Exeunt. Flourish. 



ACT n. 
PROLOGUE. 

Enter Chorus. 

Chor. Now all the youth of England are on 

fire, 
And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies : 
Now tiirive the armorers, and honor's 

thought 
Reigns solely in the breast of every ma-n : 
They sell the pvasture now to buy the horse, 
Following the mirror of all Christian kings, 
With winged heels, as English Mercuries. 
For now sits Exi)ectation in the air, 
And hides a sword from hilts unto the point 
With crowns imperial, crowns and coronets. 
Promised to Harry and his followers. 11 

The French, advised by good intelligence 
Of this most dreadful preparation, 
Shake in their fear and with pale iiolijy 
Seek tc divert the English purposes 



O England ! model to thy inward greatness. 

Like little body with a miahty heart. 

What mightst thou do, that honor would thee 

do, 
Were all thy children kind and natural ! 
But see thy fault ! France hath in thee found 

out 20 

A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills 
With treacherous crowns ; and three corrupted 

men. 
One, Richard Earl of Cambridge, and the 

second, 
Henry Lord Scroop of Masham, and the third. 
Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland, 
Have, for the gilt of France,— O guilt indeed.' 
Confirm'd conspiracy with, fearful France ; 
And by their hands this grace of kings must 

die, 
If hell and treason hold their promises, 
Ere he take ship for France, and in South- 
ampton. .'50 
Linger your patience on ; fand we'll digest 
The abuse of distance ; force a play : 
The sum is paid ; the traitors are agreed ; 
The king is set from Loudon ; and the scene 
Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton ; 
There is the playhouse now, there must you 

sit : 
And thence to France shall we convey you 

safe. 
And bring you back, charming the narrow 

seas 
To give you gentle pass ; for, if we may, 39 
We'll not offeiid one stomach with our play. 
But, till the king come forth, and not till then, 
Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. 

[Exit. 

Scene L London. A street. 

Enter Corporal Nym and Lieutenant Bar- 

DOLPH. 

Bard. Well met. Corporal Nym. 

Nym, Good morrow. Lieutenant Bardolph. 

Bard. What, are Ancient Pistol and you 
friends yet ? 

Nym. For my part, I care not : T say little ; 
but when time shall serve, there shall be smiles; 
but that shall be as it may. 1 dare not fight ; 
but I will wink aud hold out mine iron : it is 
a simple one ; but what though? it will toast 
cheese, and it will endure cold as another 
man's sword will : and there's an end. 11 

Bard. I will bestow a breakfast to make 
you friends ; and we'll be all three sworn 
iirothers to France : let it be so, good Corporal 
Nym. 

"Nym. Faith, I will live so long as I may, 
that's the certain of it ; and when I cannot 
live any longer, I will do as I may : that is my 
rest, that is the rendezvous of it. 

Bard. It is ceitain, corporal, that he is 
married to Nell Quickly : and certainly she 
did you wrong ; for you were troth-plight to 
her. 21 

Nym. I cannot tell : tilings must be as th^ 



Scene i.] 



KING HENRY V. 



453 



may : men may sleep, and they may have 
their throats about tliem at that time ; and 
some say knives have edges. It must be as it 
may : though patience be a tired mare, yet 
she will plod. Tliere must be conclusions. 
Well, I cannot tell. 

Enter Pistol and Hostess. 

Bard. Here comes Ancient Pistol and his 
wife : good corporal, be patient here. How 
now, mine host Pi.stol ! 30 

I'ist. Base tike, call'st thou me host ? 
Now, l)y this hand, I swear, I scorn the term ; 
Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers. 

Host. No, by my troth, not long ; for we 
cannot lodge and board a dozen or fourteen 
gentlewomen that live lionestly by the prick 
oi their needles, but it will be thought we 
keep a bawdy house straiglit. [Nijm and 
Pistol draw.] O well a day, I-idy, if he be 
not drawn now ! we .shall see wilful adultery 
and mui'der committed. 40 

Bard. Good lieutenant ! good corporal ! 
offer nothing here. 

Nym. Pish ! 

Fist. Pish for thee, Iceland dog ! thou 
prick-ear'd cur of Tceland ! 

Ilo.st. Good Corporal Nym, show tliy valor, 
and put up your sword. 

Nijin. Will you shog off ? I would have 
you solus. 

Fist. ' Solus,' egregious dog ? O viper 
vile ! 
The ' solus ' in thy most mervailous face •, 50 
The ' solus ' in thy teeth, and in thy throat. 
And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in' thy maw, 

perdy, 
And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth! 
I do retort the ' solus ' in thy bowels ; 
For I can take, and PLstol's cojck is up, 
And flashing fire will follow. 

Nym. I am not Barbason ; you cannot 
conjure me. I have an humor to knock you 
indifferently well. If you grow foul with me. 
Pistol, I will scour you with my rapier, as I 
may, in fair terms : if you would walk off, I 
woiild prick i,our guts a little, in good terms, 
as I may : and tliat's the humor of it. 

Pist. O braggart vile and danuied furious 
wight ! 
The grave doth gape, and doting death is 

near ; 
Tliereforc exhale. 

Bard. Hear me, hear me what I say : he 
that strikes the first stroke, I'll rim him up 
to the hilts, as I am a soldier. [Dratvs. 

Pist. An oath of mickle might ; and fury 
shall abate. 70 

Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give : 
Tiiy spirits are most tall. 

Nym. I will cut thy throat, one time or 
other, in fair terms : tliat is the humor of it. 

Pist. ' Couple a gorge ! ' 
That is the word. I thee defy again. 
hound of Crete, tUink'st thou my spoase to 
set? 



No ; to the spital go, 
And from tlie powdering tub of infamy 
Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind, 80 
Doll Tearsheet she by name, and her es})ouse: 
I have, and I will hold, tlie quondam Quickly 
For the only she ; and — pauca, there's enough. 
Go to. 

Enter the Boy. 

Boy. Mine host Pistol, you must come to 
my master, and you, hostess : he is very sick, 
and would to bed. (iood Bardolpli, put thy 
face between his sheets, and do the office of a 
warmiug-pan. Faith, lie's very ill. 

Bard. Away, you rogue ! 90 

Host. By my troth, he'll yield the crow a 
pudding one of tliese days. The king has 
killed his heart. Good husband, come home 
presently. [Exetint Hostess and Boy. 

Bard. Come, shall I make you two friends ? 
We must to France together : why the devil 
should we keep knives to cut one anotlier's 
throats ? 

Pist. Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for 
food howl on ! 

Nym. You'll pay me the eiglit shillings I 
won of you at betting ? 

Pist. Base is the slave that pays. 100 

Nym. That now I will have : that's the 
humor of it. 

Pist. As manhood shall compound : push 
home. [They draw. 

Bard. By this sword, he th.at makes the 
first thrust, I'll kill him ; by this sword, I will. 

Pist. Sword is an oath, and oaths must 
have their course. 

Bard. Corporal Nym, an tliou wilt be 
friends, be friends : an tliou wilt not, why, 
then, be enemies witli me too. Prithee, jnit 
up. 

Nym. I shall have my eight shillings I won 
of you at betting ? Ill 

Pist. A noble shalt thou have, and present 

v^y ; 

And liquor likewise will I give to thee. 
And friendship shall combine, and brother- 
hood : 
I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me ; 
Is not this just ? for I shall sutler be 
Unto tlie camp, and profits will accrue. 
Give me thy hand. 
Nym. I shall have my noble ? 
Pist. In cash most justly paid. 120 

Ni/7n. Well, then, that's the humor oft. 

Re-enter Hostess. 

Host. As ever you came of women, come 
in i-uickly to Sir John. Ah, poor heart ! he 
is so sha'ked of a burning quotidian tertian, 
that it is most lamentable to behold. Sweet 
men, come to him. 

Nipn. The king hath run bad humors on 
the knight ; that's the even of it. 

Pist. Nym, thou hast spoke the right ; 
His heart is fracted and corroborate. l.*^ 

NyWir The Hiiig is ii yood king ; but it must 



454 



KING HENRY V. 



[Act II. 



lae as it may ; lie passes some humors and 
careers. 
Fist. Let us condole the knight ; for, lamb- 
kins we will live. 

Scene II. Suiithampton. A council-chamber. 
Enter Exetek, Bedford, and Westmore- 
land. 
Bed. 'Fore God, his gi'ace is bold, to trust 

these traitors. 
Exe. They shall be apprehended by and by. 
West. How smooth and even they do bear 
tlieiuselves ! 
As if allegiance in their bosoms sat, 
Crowned with faith and constant loyalty. 
Bed. The king hatli note of all that they 
intend. 
By interceiition which they dream not of. 
Exe. Nay, but the man that was his bed- 
fellow, 
Whom he hath dull'd and cloy'd with gracious 

favors, 
That he sliould, for a foreign purse, so sell 10 
His sovereign's life to death and treachery. 
Trumpets sound. Enter King Henry, 
ScKO )P, Cambridge, Grey, and Attendants. 
K. lien. Now sits the wind fair, and we 
will aboard. 
My Lord of Cambridge, and my kind Lord of 

Masham, 
And you, my gentle knight, srive me your 

til oughts : 
Think you not that the powers we bear with 

us 
Will cut their passage through the force of 

France, 
Doing the execution and the act 
For which we have in head assembled them ? 
Scroop. No doubt, my liege, if each man 

do his best. 
K. Hen. I doubt not that ; since we are 
well persuaded 20 

We carry not a heart with us from hence 
Tliat grows not in a fair consent with ours, 
Nor leave not one behind that doth not wish 
Success and conquest to attend on us. 

Cam. Never was monarch better f ear'd and 
loved 
Than is your majesty : there's not, I think, a 

subject 
That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness 
Under the sweet shade of your government. 
Grey. True : those that were your father's 
enemies 
Have steep'd their galls in honey and do serve 
you 30 

With hearts create of duty and of zeal. 
K. Hen. We therefore have great cause of 
thankfulness ; 
And shall forget the office of our hand, 
Sooner than quittance of desert and merit 
According to the vveight and worthiness. 
Scroop. So service shall with steeled sin- 
ews toil, 
And labor shall refresh itself with hope. 



To do your grace incessant services. 
K. Hen. We judge no less. Uncle of Ex- 
eter, 
Enlarge the man committed yesterday, 40 

That raii'd against our ])erson : we consider 
It was excess of wine that set him on ; 
And on his more advice we pardon him. 
Scroop. That's mercy, but too much secu- 
rity : 
Let him be punish'd, sovereign, lest example 
Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind. 
K. Hen. O, let us yet be merciful. 
Cam. So may your liighne«s, and yet pun- 
ish too. 
Grey. Sir, 
You show great mercj^, if you give him life, 50 
After the taste of much correction. 
K. Hen. Alas, your too much love and care 
of me 
Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch ! 
If little faults, proceeding on distemper. 
Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch 

our eye 

When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd and 

digested, [man, 

Appear before us ? We'll yet enlarge that 

Though Cambridge, Scroop and Grey, in tlieir 

dear care 
And tender preser^^ation of our person, 
Would liave liim punished. And now to our 
French causes: 60 

Wlio are the late commissioners ? 

Cam. I one, my lord : 
Your highness bade me ask for it to-day. 
Scroop. So did you me, my liege. 
Grey. And I, my royal sovereign. 

• K. Hen. Tiien, Richard Earl of Cambridge, 

there is yours ; 

There yours, Lord Scroop of Masham ; and, 
sir kniglit, 

Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours: 

Read them ; and know, I know your worthi- 
ness. 

My Lord of Westmoreland, and uncle Exeter, 

We will aboard to nighu. Why, how now, 
gentlemen ! 71 

What see you in those papers that you lose 

So much complexion? Look ye, how they 
change ! 

Their cheeks are paper. Why, what read you 
there 

That hath so cowarded and chased your blood 

Out of appearance ? 

Cam. I do confess my fault ; 

And do submit me to your highness' mercy. 

Scroop. \ '^^ ^^^"^^ ^® ^" appeal. 

K. Hen. The mercy that was quick in us 
but late, 
By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd : 80 
You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy; 

• For your own reasons turn into your bosoms, 
As dogs upon their masters, worrying you. 
See you, my princes, and my noble peers, 
These English monsters! My lord of Gam' 

bridge here, 



Scene hi.] 



KING HENRY V. 



d56 



You know how apt our love was to accord 
To furnish him with all appertinents 
Belonging to his lionor ; and this man 
Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspired, 
And sworn unto the practices of France, 90 
To kill us liere in Hampton : to the which 
This knight, no less for bounty bound to us 
Than Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn. 

But, 0, 
What shall I say to thee, Lord Scroop ? thou 

cruel, 
Ingrateful, savage and inhuman creature ! 
Tliou that didst bear the key of all my coun- 
sels. 
That knew'st the A'erj' bottom of my soul, 
That almost mightst have coin'd me into gold, 
Wouldstthou have practised on me for tliy use, 
May it be jwssible, that foreign hire 100 

Could out of thee extract one spark of evil 
Tliat miglit annoy my finger ? 'tis so strange. 
That, though the truth of it stands ofif as gross 
As black and white, my eye will scarcely 

see it. 
Treason and murder ever kept together, 
As two yolv'e-devils sworn to cither's purpose, 
"Working so grossly in a natural cause, 
That admiration did not whoop at them : 
But tliou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in 
"Wonder to wait on treason and on murder: 110 
And whatsoever cunning fiend it was 
Tliat wrought upon thee so preposterously 
Uath got the voice in hell for excellence : 
Ail other devils that suggest by treasons 
Do botcli and bungle up damnation 
With patches, colors, and with forms being 

fetch 'd 
From glistering semblances of piety ; 
But lie tliat temper'd thee bade thee stand up, 
Gave thee no instance why tliou shouldst do 

treason. 
Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor. 120 
If that same demon that liath gull'd tliee tluis 
Should with his lion gait walk the Avhole world, 
He might return to vasty Tarkir back, 
And tell the legions ' I can never win 
A soul so easy as tliat Englishman's.* 
O, how hast thou with jealousy infected 
The sweetness of affiance ! Show men dutiful? 
Why, so didst thou : seem they grave and 

learned ? 
Why, so didst thou : come they of noble fam- 
ily ? 
AN hy, so didst thou : seem they religious ? 1.30 
Why, so didst thou : or are they spare in diet. 
Free from gross pa.ssion or of mirth or anger, 
Consfcmt in spirit, not swerving with the blood, 
Gamish'd and deck'd in modest complement, 
Not working with the eye without the ear. 
And but in purged judgment trusting neither? 
Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem . 
And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot, 
To mark the full-fraught man and best indued 
With some suspicion. I will weep for thee ;140 
For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like 
Another fall of man. Their faults are opeo: 
Arrest them to tbe answer ol the iaw ; • 



And God acquit them of their practices ! 

Exe. I arrest thee of high treason , by the 
name of Richard Earl of Cambridge. 

I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of 
Henry Lord Scroop of !Masham. 

I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of 
Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland. 150 
Scroop. Our purposes God justly hath dis- 
cover' d ; 
And I repent my fault more than my death ; 
Which I beseech your highness to forgive. 
Although my body pay the price of it. 

Cam. For me, the gold of France did not 
seduce ; 
Although I did admit it as a motive 
The sooner to effect what I intended : 
But God be thanked for prevention ; 
Wliich I in sufferance heartily will rejoice, 
Beseeching God and you to pardon me. 1(30 
Grey. Never did faithful subject more re- 
joice 
At the discovery of most dangerous treason 
Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself. 
Prevented from a damned enterprise : 
My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign. 
jr. i/(7|. God quit you in his mercy ! Hear 
your sentence. 
You have conspired against our royal person, 
Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd and from his 

coffers 
Received the golden earnest of our death ; 
Wherein you would have sold your king to 
slaughter, 170 

His princes and his peers to servitude. 
His subjects to oppression and contempt 
And his whole kingdom into desolation. 
Touching our person seek we no revenge ; 
But we our kingdom's safety must so tender. 
Whose ruin you have sought, that to her laws 
We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence. 
Poor miserable wretches, to your death : 
The taste whereof, God of his mercy give 179 
You patience to endure, and true repentance 
Of all your dear offences ! Bear them hence. 
[Exeunt Cambridge, Scroojy and Grey, 
guarded. 
Now, lords, for France ; the enterprise whereof 
Shall be to you, as us, hke glorious. 
We doubt not of a fair and lucky war, 
Since God so graciously hath brought to light 
This dangerous treason lurking in our way 
To hinder our beginnings. We doubt not now 
But every rub is smoothed on our way. 
Then forth, dear countrymen : let us deliver 
Our puissance into the hand of God, IDC 

Putting it straight in expedition. 
Cheerly to sea ; the signs of war advance : 
No king of Enghuid, if not king of France. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. London. Be/ore a tavern. 

Enter Pistol, Hostess, Nysi, Bakdolph, and 
Boy. 

Host. Prithee, honey-sweet Imsband, let 
rae bring thee t» Staiuea, 



456 



KING HENRY V. 



[Act II. 



Pist. No ; for my manly heart doth yearn. 
Bardolph, be blithe : Nym, rouse thy vaunt- 
ing veins : 
Boy, bristle thy courage up ; lor Falstaff he is 

dead, 
And we must yearn therefore. 

Bard. Woufd 1 were with him, wheresome'er 
he is, either in heaven or in hell ! 

Host. Nay, sure, he's not in hell : he's in 
Arthur's bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's 
bosom. A' made a finer end and went away 
an it had been any christom child ; a' parted 
even just between twelve and one, even at the 
turning o' the tide : for after I saw hin^ fumble 
witli the sheets and play with flowers and smile 
upon his fingers' ends, I knew there was but 
one way ; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, 
and a' babbled of green fields. ' How now, sir 
John ! ' quoth I : ' what, man ! be o' good 
cheer.' So a' cried out 'God, God, God!' 
three or four times. Now I, to comfort him, 
bid him a' should not think of God ; I hoped 
there was no need to troul)le himself with .any 
juch thoughts yet. So a' bade me lay more 
clothes on liis feet : I put my hand into the 
bed and felt them, and they were as cold as 
any stone ; tlien I felt to his knees, and they 
were as cold as any stone, and so upward and 
upward, and all was as cold as any stone. 

Nym. Thev say he cried out of sack. 

Host. Ay, that a' did. 30 

Bard. And of women. 

Host. Nay, that a' did not. 

Boy. Yes, that a' did ; and said they were 
devils incarnate. 

Host. A' could never abide carnation ; 'twas 
a color he never liked. 

Boy. A' said once, the devil would have 
him about women. 

Host. A' did in some sort, indeed, handle 
women ; but then he was rheumatic, and 
talked of the whore of Babylon. 41 

Boy. Do you not reuiember, a' saw a flea 
stick upon Bardolph's nose, and a' said it was 
a black soul burning in hell-fire ? 

Bard. Well, the fuel is gone that maintained 
that fire : that's all the riches 1 got in his ser- 
vice. 

Nym. Shall we shog ? the king will be 
gone from Southampton. 

Pist. Come, let's away. My love, give me 
thy lips. 
Look to my chattels and my movables : 50 
Let senses rule ; the word is ' Pitch and Pay : ' 
Trust none ; 

For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer- 
cakes, 
And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck : 
Therefore, Caveto be thy counsellor. 
Go, clear thy crystals. Yoke-fellows in arms, 
Let us to France ; like horse-leeches, my boys. 
To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck ! 

Boy. And that's but unwholesome food they 
say. 60 

Pist. Touch her soft mouth, and march. 

JSard, Farewell, hoatesa, \yKimng her. 



Nym. I cannot Idss, that is the humor of it ; 
but, adieu. 
Pist. Let housewifery appear : keep close, 

I thee command. 
Host. Farewell ; adieu. [Exeunt. 

ScBNK IV. France. The King's palace. 

Flourish. Enter the French King, the Dau- 
phin, the Dukes of Berki and Bretagne, 
the Constable, and others. 

Fr. King. Thus comes the English with full 
power upon us ; 
And more than carefully it us concerns 
To answer royally in our defences. 
.Therefore the Dukes of Berri and of Bretagne, 
Of Brabant and of Orleans, shall make forth. 
And you, Prince Daujihin, with all swift dis- 
patch. 
To line and new repair our towns of war 
With men of courage and with means defend- 
ant ; 
For England his approaches makes as fierce 
As waters to the sucking of a gulf 10 

It fits us then to be as provident 
As fear maj' teach us out of late examples 
Left by the fatal and neglected English 
Upon our fields. 

Dau. My most redoubted father, 

It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe ; 
For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom. 
Though war nor no known quarrel were in 

question. 
But that defences, musters, preparations. 
Should be maintain'd, assembled and col- 
lected. 
As were a war in expectation. 20 

Therefore, I say 'tis meet we all go forth 
To view the sick and feeble parts of France : 
And let us do it with no show of fear ; 
No, with no more than if we heard that Eng- 
land 
Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance : 
For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd, 
Her sceptre so fantastically borne 
By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth, 
That fear attends her not. 

Con. O peace. Prince Dauphin ! 

You are too much mistaken in this king : 30 
Question your grace the late ambassadors, 
Witli what great state he lieard their em- 
bassy, 
How well supplied with noble counsellors, 
How modest in exception, and withal 
How terrible in constant resolution, 
And you shall find his vanities forespent 
Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus, 
Covering discretion with a coat of folly ; 
As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots 
That shall first spring a}id be most delicate. 40 
Dan. Well, 'tis not so, my lord high con- 
stable ; 
But though we think it so, it is no matter : 
In cases of defence 'tis best to weigh 
The enemy more mighty than he seems : 
gQ tUe propsrt4oua gf ^efeQcei aw fiU'<i ; 



Scene iv.] 



KING HENRY V. 



457 



Wliich of a weak or niggardly projection 
Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat with scanting 
A little cloth. 

Fr. King. Think we King Harry strong ; 
And, princes, look you strongly arm to meet 

him. 
The kindred of him hath been flesh'd upon us; 
And he is bred out of that bloody strain 51 
That haunted us in our familiar paths : 
Witness our too much memorable shame 
When Cressy battle fatally was struck. 
And all our princes captived by the hand 
Of that black name, Edward, i31ack Prince of 

- Wales ; 
Whiles that his mountain sire, on mountain 

standing, 
Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sun, 
Saw hi* lieroical seed, and smiled to see him, 
Mangle the work of nature and deface 60 
The patterns that by God and by French 

fathers 
Had twenty years been made. This is a stem 
Of that victorious stock ; and let us fear 
The native mightiness and fate of him. 
Enter a Messenger. 
Mess. Ambassadors from Harry King of 

England 
Do crave admittance to your majesty. 
Fr. Kinf/. We'll give them preseut audience. 

Go, and bring them. 
[Exeunt Messenger and certain Lords. 
You see this chase is hoitly foUow'd, friends. 
Dau. Turn head, and stop pursuit ; for 

coward dogs 
Most spend their mouths when what they seem 

to threaten 70 

Runs far before them. Good my sovereign. 
Take up the English short, and let them know 
Of what a monarchy you are the liead : 
Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin 
As self-neglecting. 

Re-enter Lords, loith Exeter and train. 

Fr. King. From our brother England ? 

Ex.e. From him ; and thus he greets your 
majesty. 
He wills you, in the name of God Almighty, 
That you' divest yourself, and lay apart 
The borrow'd glories that by gift of heaven. 
By law of nature and of nations, 'long 80 

To him and to his heirs ; namely, the crown 
And all wide-stretched honors that pertain 
By custom and the ordinance of times 
Unto the crown of France. That you may 

Iniow 
'Tis no sinister nor no awkward claim, [days, 
Pick'd from the wojin-holes of long-vanish'd 
Nyr from tlic dust of old oblivion raked. 
He sends y( u this most memorable line. 
In every braiiih truly demonstrative ; 
Willing you overlook this pedigree : DO 

And when you find him evenly derived 
From his most famed of famous ancestors, 
Edward the Third, he bids you then rtssign 
Your crown and Icingdom, indirectly heir' 
From him the native and true challenger 



Fr. King. Or else what fellows ? 
Exe. Bloody constraint ; for if you hide tlie 
crown 
Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it : 
Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming. 
In thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove, 100 
That, if requiring fail, he will compel ; 
And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord, 
Deliver up the crown, and to take mercy 
On the poor souls for whom this hungry war 
Opens his vasty jaws ; and on your head 
Turning the widows' tears, the orphans' cries. 
The dead men's blood, the pining maidens' 

groans. 
For husbands, fathers and betrothed lovers, 
That shall be swallow'd in this controversy. 
This is his claim, his threatening and my mes- 
sage ; 110 
Unless the Dauphin be in presence here. 
To whom expressly I bring greeting too. 
Fr. King. For us, we will consider of this 
further : 
To-morrow shall you bear our full intent 
Back to our brother England. 

Dau. For the Daupliin, 

I stand here for him : what to him from Eng- 
land ? 
Exe. Scorn and defiance ; slight regard, 
contempt. 
And any thing that may not misbecome 
The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. 
Thus says my king ; an' if your father's high- 
ness 120 
Do not, in grant of all demands at large. 
Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty, 
He'll call you to so hot an answer of it. 
That caves and womby vaultages of France 
Shall chide your trespass and return your 

n>ock 
In second accent of his ordnance. 

Dau. Say, if my father render fair return, 
It is against my will ; for I desire 
Nothing but odds with England : to that end. 
As matching to his youth and vanity, 130 

I did present him with the Paris balls. 
Exe. He'll make your Paris Louvre shake 
for it, 
Were it the mistress-court of mighty Europe : 
And, be assured, you'll find a dilTerence, 
As we his subjects have in wonder found. 
Between the promise of his greener days 
And these he masters now : now he weighs 

time 
Even to the utmost grain : that you shall read 
In vour own losses, if he stay in France. 
Fr. Kwg. To-morrow shall you know our 
mind at full. HO 

Exe. Dispatch us with all speed, lest that 
our king 
Come here himself to question our delay ; 
For he is footed in this land already. 
Fr. King. Y'ou shall be soon dispatch'd with 
fair conditions : 
A night is but small breath and little pause 
To answer jnatters of this consequence. 

[FloHrislh Exeunt, 



458 



KTNG HENRY V. 



[Act 111. 



ACT in. 
PROLOGUE. 

Enter Chorus. 

Chor. Thus with imagined wing our swift 
scene Hies 
In motion of no less celerity 
Than that of thought. Suppose that you liave 

seen 
The well-appointed king at Hampton pier 
Embark his royalty ; and his brave fleet 
With silken streamers the young Phtubus fan- 
ning : 
Play with your fancies, and in them behold 
Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing ; 
Hear the shrill wliistle which doth order give 
To sounds confused ; behold the threaden 
sails, 10 

Borne with the invisible and creeping wind. 
Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd 

sea, 
Breasting the lofty surge : 0, do but think 
You stand ui^on the rivage and behold 
A city on the inconstant billows dancing ; 
For so appears this fleet majestical. 
Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, fol- 
low : 
Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy. 
And leave your England, as dead midnight 

still, 
Guarded with grandsires, babies and old wo- 
men, 
Either past or not arrived to pith and puis- 
sance ; 
For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd 
With one aiipearing hair, that will not follow 
These cuU'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to 

France ? 
Work, Avork your thoughts, and therein see a 

siege ; 
Behold tiie ordnance on their carriages, 
Witli fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur. 
Suppose the ambassador from the French comes 

back ; 
Tells Harry that the king doth offer him 
Katharine his daughter, and with her, to 
dowry, oO 

Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms. 
The offer likes not : and th.e nimble gunner 
With linstock now the devilish cannon touch- 
es, [^Alarum, and chamhcrs r/o off. 
And down goes all before them. Still be kind, 
And eke out our performance with your mind. 

[Exit. 

Scene I. France. Before Harfleur. 

Alarum. Enter King Henry, Exeter, Bed- 
ford, Gloucester, and Soldiers, with scal- 
intf-ladders. 

K. Hen. Oiice more unto tlie breach, dear 
friends, once more ; 
Or close the wall up with our English dead. 
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man 



As modest stillness and humility : 

But when the blast of war blows in our ears, 

Then imitate the action of the tiger ; 

Stiffen the sinews, sumuaon up the blood. 

Disguise fair n;;t;ire with hard-favor'd rage ; 

Then lend the eye a terrible aspect ; 

Let it pry through the portage of the head 10 

Like the brass cannon ; let the brow o'erwheln. 

it 
As fearfully as doth a galled rock 
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, 
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. 
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide. 
Hold hard the breath and bend u^) every spirit 
To his full height. On, on, you noblest Eng- 

lisli, 
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-i)i-oof ! 
Fathers that, like so many Alexandei-s, 
Have in these parts from morn till even fought 
And sheathed their swords lor lack of argu- 
ment : 21 
Dishonor not your mothers ; now attest 
That those wliom you call'd fathers did beget 

you. 
Be copy now to men of grosser blood. 
And teach them how to war. And you, good 

yeomen. 
Whose limbs were made in England, show us 

here 
The mettle of your pasture ; let us swear 
That you are worth your breeding ; which I 

doubt not ; 
For there is none of you so mean and base, 
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. 30 
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips. 
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot : 
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge 
Cry ' God for Harry, England, and Saint 

George ! ' 

[Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go off. 

Scene II. The same. 

Enter Nym, Bardolph, Pistol, and Boy. 

Bard. On, on, on, on, on ! to the breach, to 
the breach ! 

Ni/m. Pray thee, corporal, stay : the knocks 
are too hot ;'and, for mine own part, I have 
not a case of lives : the humor of it is too hot^ 
that is the very plain-song of it. 
Pist. The plain-song is most just ; for hux 
mors do abound : 
Knocks go and come ; God's vassals drop and 
die ; 

And sword and shield, 
In bloody field, 10 

Doth win immortal fame. 
Boy. Would I were in an alehouse in Lon- 
don ! I would give aU my fame for a pot of 
ale and safety. 
Pist. And I : 

If wishes would prevail with me, 
My purpose should not fail with me, 
But thither would I hie. 
Boy. As duly, but not as truly. 

As bird doth sing on bongi. 20 



Scene ii.] 



KING HENRY V. 



459 



Enter Fluellen. 

Flu. Up to the breach, you dogs ! avaunt, 
you cullions ! \_Drimn(j tliein forward. 

Pist. Be merciful, great duke, to ineu of 
mould. 
Abate thy rage, abate thy mauly rage, 
Abate thy rage, great duke ! 
Good bawcock, bate thy rage ; use lenity, 
sweet chuck ! 

Xiim. These be good humors ! your honor 
wins bad humors. {Exeunt all but Hoy. 

Jiop. As young as I am, I have observed 
these three swashers. I am boy to them all 
three : but all they three, though they would 
serve nie, could not be man to me ; for indeed 
three such antics do not amount lo a man. 
For Bardolph, he is white-livered and red- 
faced ; by the means whereof a' faces it out, 
but fights not. For Pistol, he hath a killing 
tongue and a quiet sword ; by the means 
whereof a' breaks words, and keeps whole 
weapons. For Nym, he hath heard that men 
of few words are the best men ; and therefore 
he scorns to say his prayers, lest a' should be 
thought a coward : but his few bad words are 
matched witii as few good deeds ; for a' never 
broke any man's head but his own, and that 
was against a post wlien he was drunk. They 
will steal any thing, and call it purchase. 
Bardolph stole a lute-case, bore it twelve 
leagues, and sold it for three half jience. Nym 
and Bardoli)h are sworn brothers in filching, 
and in Calais they stole a fire-shovel : I knew 
by that piece of service the men would carry 
coals. They would have me as familiar with 
men's pockets as their gloves or their hand- 
kerchers : which makes much against my 
manhood, if I should take from another's 
pocket to put into mine ; for it is plain pock- 
eting up of wrongs. I must leave them, and 
seek some better service : their villany goes 
against my weak stomach, and therefore I 
must cast it up. [Exit. 

Re-enter Fluellen, Gower following. 

Gow. Cajitain Fluellen, you must come 
presently to the miues ; the Duke of Glouces- 
ter would speak with you. GO 

Flu. To the mines! tell you the duke, it is 
not so good to come to the mines ; for, look 
you, the mines is not according to the disci- 
plines of the war : the concavities of it is not 
sufficient ; for, look you, th' athversary, you 
may discuss unto the duke, look you, is digt 
himself four yard under the countermines : by 
Cheshu, I think a' will plow up all, if there is 
not better directions. 

Gow. The Duke of Gloucester, to whom 
the order of the siege is given, is altogetlier 
directed by an Irishman, a very valiant gen- 
tleman, i' faith. 

Flu. It is Captain Macmorris, is it not ? 

Gow. I think it be. 

Flu. By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the 
■world : I will verify as much in his beard : he 
bas Qo more directions in the true discipliBes 



of the wars, look you, of the Roman disci- 
plines, than is a puppy-dog. 

Enter Macmorris and Captain Jamy. 

Goiv. Here a' comes ; and the Scots cap- 
tain. Captain Jamj', with him. 80 

Flu. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous 
gentleman, that is certain ; and of great ex- 
pedition and knowledge in th' aunchiewtwars, 
upon my pjirticular knowledge of his direc- 
tions : by Cheshu, he will maintain his argu- 
ment as well as any military man in the 
world, in t!;e disciplines of the pristine wars 
of the Romans. 

Jamy. I say gud-day, Captain Fluellen. 

Flu. God-den to your worship, good Cap- 
tain James. DO 

Gou-. How now, Captain Macmorris ! have 
you quit the mines ? have the pioneers given 
o'er ? 

Mac. By Chrish, la ! tish ill done : the 
Avork ish give over, the trompet sound the re- 
treat. By my hand, 1 swear, and my father's 
soul, the work ish ill done ; it ish give over : 
I Avould have blowed up the town, so Clirish 
save me, la ! in an hour : O, tisli ill done, 
tish ill done ; by my hand, tish ill done ! 1)9 

Flu. Captain Macmorris, I beseech you 
now, will you voutsafe me, look you, a few 
disputations with you, as partly toucliing or 
concerning the disciplines of the war, the Ro- 
man wars, in the way of argument, look you, 
and friendly communication ; partly to sat- 
isfy my opinion, and partly for the satisfac- 
tion, look you, of my mind, as touching the 
direction of the milittiry discipline ; that is 
the point. 

Jamy. It sail be vary gud, gud feitli, gud 
captains bath : and I sail quit you with gud 
leve, as I may pick occasion ; that sail I, 
marry. Ill 

Mac. It is no time to discourse, so Chrish 
save me : the day is hot, and the weather, 
and the wars, and the king, and the dukes : 
it is no time to discourse. The town is be- 
seeched, and the trumpet call us to the 
bre.ach ; and we talk, and, be Chrish, do noth- 
ing : 'tis shame for us all : so God sa' nie, 'tis 
shame to stand still ; it is shame, by my 
hand : and there is throats to be cut, and 
works to be done ; and there ish nothing 
done, so Chrish sa' me, la I 121 

Jamy. By the mess, ere_ theise eyes of mine 
take themselves to slomber, ay'll de gud ser- 
vice, or ay'll lig i' tlie grand for it ; ay, or go 
to death ; and ay'll pay 't as valorously as I 
may, that sail I'sucrly do, that is the brcft' 
and the long. Marry, 1 wad full fain hear 
some question 'tween you tway. 

Flu. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, 
under your correction, there is not many of 
your nation — 131 

Mac. Of my nation ! Wliat ish my nation ? 
Ish a villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and 
a rascal. What ish my nation ? AMio talks 
of my nation ? 



460 



KING HENRY V. 



[Act III. 



Flu. Look you, if you take the matter 
etherwise than Is meant, Captain Macmorris, 
peradventure I shall think you do not use me 
with tliat affability as in discretion you (night 
to use me, look you ; being as good a man as 
yourself, both in the disciplines of war, and 
m the derivation of my birtli, and in other 
particularities. 

Mac. I do not know you so good a man as 
myself : so Chrish save me, I will cut off 
your head. 

Gow.. Gentlemen both, you will mistake 
each other. 

J amy. A ! that's a foul fault. 

{^Aimrley sounded. 

Gow. The town sounds a parley. 149 

Flu. Captain Macmorris, when there is 
more better opportunity to be required, look 
you, I will be so bold as to tell you I know 
the discii)lines of war ; and there is an end. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. The same. Before the gates. 

The Governor and some Citizens on the icalls ; 
the Englishforces below. Enter King Henry 
and his train. 

K. Hen. How yet resolves the governor of 
the town ? 

This is the latest parle we will admit ; 

Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves ; 

Or like to men proud of destruction 

Defy us to our worst : for, as I am a soldier, 

A name that in my thoughts becomes me 
best, 

If I begin the battery once again, 

I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur 

Till in her ashes she lie buried. 

The gates of mercy shall be all shut up, 10 

And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of 
heart, 

In liberty of bloody hand shall range 

With conscience wide as hell, mowing like 
grass 

Your fresh-fair virgins and your flowering-in- 
fants. 

Wliat is it then to me, if impious war, 

Array'd in flames like to the prince of fiends, 

Do, with his smirch' d complexion, all fell 
feats 

Enlink'd to waste and desolation ? 

What is't to me, when you yourselves are 
cause. 

If your pure maidens fall into the hand 20 

Of hot and forcing violation ? 

What rein can hold licentious wickedness 

When down the hill he holds his fierce career? 

We may as bootless spend our vain command 

Upon ihe enraged soldiers in their spoil 

As send precepts to the leviathan 

To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Har- 
fleur, 

Take pity of your town and of your people, 

Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command ; 

Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of 
grace 30 

O'orWows the filthy and contagious cloucia 



Of heady murder, spoil and villany. 
If not, Avhy, in a moment look to see 
The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand 
Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daugh- 
ters ; 
Your fathers taken by the silver beards. 
And their most reverend heads dash'd to the 

walls. 
Your naked infants spitted upon pikes. 
Whiles the mad mothers with their howls con- 
fused 
Do break the clouds, as did the wives of 
Jewry 40 

At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen. 
What say you ? will you yield, and this 

avoid. 
Or, guilty in defence, be thus de.stroy'd ? 

Gov. Our expectation hath this day an end : 
The Dauphin, whom of succors we entreated. 
Returns us that his powers are yet not ready 
To raise so great a siege. Therefore, gicut 

king. 
We yield our town and lives to thy soft 

mercy. 
Enter our gates ; dispose of us and ours ; 
For we no longer are defensible. 50 

K. Hen- Open your gates. Come, uncle 
Exeter, 
Go you and enter Harfleur ; there remain. 
And fortify it strongly 'gainst the Fiench : 
Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle. 
The winter coming on and sickness growing 
Upon our soldiers, we will retire to Calais. 
To-night in Harfleur we will be your guest ; 
To-morrow for the march are we addi est. 

[Flourish. The King and his train enter 
the town. 

Scene IV. The French King's palace. 
Enter Katharine and Alice. 

Kath. Alice, tu as ete eu Angleterre, et tu 
paries bien le langage. 

Alice. Un pen, madame. 

Kath. Je te prie, m'enseignez : il faut que 
j'appreniie ^ parler. Conmient appelez-vous 
la main en Anglois ? 

Alice. La main ? elle est appelee de hand. 

Kath. De hand. Et les doigts ? 

Alice. Les doigts? ma foi, j'oublie les 
doigts ; mais je me souviendrai. Les doigts ? 
je pense qu'ils sont appeles de fiugres ; oui, 
de fingres. 11 

Katli. La main, de hand ; les doigts, de 
fingres. Je j^ense que je suis le bon e'colier ; 
j'ai gagne deux mots d' Anglois vitement. 
Comment appelez-vous les ongles ? 

Alice. Les ongles ? nous les appelons de 
nails. 

Kath. De nails. Ecoutez ; dites-moi, si je 
parle bien : de hand, de fingres, et de nails. 

Alice. C'est bien dit, madame ; il est fort 
bon Anglois. 20 

Kath. Dites-moi 1' Anglois pour le bragi 

Alice. De arm, madame, 

Kath, EtlQcoude? 



Scene v.1 



KING HENRY V. 



461 



Alice. Dg elbow. 

Kath. De elbow. Je m'en fais la repetition 
de tous les mots que vous m'avez appris des a 
present. 

Alice. II est trop difficile, niadame, coniiue 
je pense. 

Kath. Excusez-raoi, Alice ; ecoutez : de 
hand, de fiugres, de nails, de anna, de bil- 
bow. ol 

Alice. De elbow, madame. 

Kath. Seigneur Dieu, jem'en oublie ! de 
elbow. Comment appelez-vous le col ? 

Alice. De neck, madame. 

Kath. De nick. Et le menton ? 

Alice. De chin. 

Kath. De sin. Le col, de nick ; de menton, 
de sin. 39 

Alice. Oui. Sauf votie honneur, en verite, 
vous prononcez les mots aussi droit que les 
natifs d'Angleterre. 

Kath. Je ne doute point d'apprendre, par 
la grace de Dieu, et en peu do temps. 

Alice. N'avez vous pas deja oublie ce que 
je vous ai enseigne ? 

Kath. Non, je reciterai a vous prompte- 
ment : de hand, de fingres, de mails, — 

Alice. De nails, madame. 

Kath. De nails, de arm, de ilbow. 50 

Alice. Sauf votre honneur, de elbow. 

Kath. Ainsi dis-je ; de elbow, de nick, et 
de sin. Comment appelez-vous le pied et la 
robe ? 

Alice. De foot, madame ; et de coun. 

Kath. De foot et de coun ! O Seigneur 
Dieu ! ce sont mots de sou mauvais, corruptible, 
gros, et impudique, et non pour les dames 
d'honneur d'user : je ne voudrais prononcer 
ces mots devant les seigneurs de France pour 
tout le monde. Fob ! le foot et le coun ! 
Neanmoins, je reciterai une autre fois ma 
le9ou ensemble : de hand, de fingres, de nails, 
de arm, de elbow, de nick, de sin, de foot, de 
coun. 

Alice. Excellent, madame ! 

Kath. C'est assez pour une fois : allons- 
nous a diner. [E::eunt. 

Scene V. Tlie same. 

Enter the Kino of France, the Dauphin, the 
Duke of Bourbon, the Constable of 
France, and others. 

Fr. King. 'Tis certain he hath pass'd the 

river Sonime. 
Con. And if he be not fought withal, my 
lord. 
Let us not live in France ; let us quit all 
And give our vineyards to a barbarous people. 
Dau. Dieu vivant ! shall a few sprays of 
us, 
The emptying of our fathers' luxury. 
Our scions, put in wild and savage stock, 
Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds, 
Ajid overlook theirgrafters ? 
Bour. Normans, bnt bastard Normans, 
Norman bastards ! 10 



Mort de ma vie ! if they march along 
Unfought withal, but 1 will sell my dukedom, 
To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm 
In that nook-shotten isle of Albion. 

Con. Dieu de batailles ! where have they 

this mettle ? 
Is not their climate foggy, raw and dull, 
(Ju whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale. 
Killing their fruit with frowns ? Can sodden 

water, 
A drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley- 
broth, 19 
Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat ? 
And shall our quick blood, si)irited with wine. 
Seem frosty ? O, lor honor of our land. 
Let us not hang like roping icicles 
Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty 

people 
Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields ! 
Poor we may call them in their native lords. 

Ban. By faith and honor. 
Our madams mock at us, and plainly say 
Our mettle is bred out and they will give 
Their bodies to the lust of English youth 30 
To new-store France with bastard warriors. 
Bour. They bid us to the EnglLsh dancing- 
schools, 
And teach lavoltas high and swift corantos ; 
Saying our grace is only in our heels. 
And that we are most lofty runaways. 
Fr. King. Where is Montjoy the herald ? 

speed him hence : 
Let him greet England with our sharp defiance. 
Up, princes ! and, with spirit of honor edged 
More sharper than your swords, hie to the 

field : 39 

Charles Delabreth, high constable of France ; 
You Dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of 

Berri, 
Alen<;on, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy ; 
Jaques Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemout, 
Beaumont, Grandpre', Roussi, and Faucon- 

berg, 
Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois ; 
High dukes, great princes, barons, lords and 

knights, 
For your great seats now quit you of great 

shames. 
Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our 

land 
With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur : 
Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow 50 
Upon the valleys, whose low vassal seat 
The .Vlps doth spit and void his rheum upon : 
Go down upon him, you have power enough, 
And in a captive chariot into Rouen 
Bring him our prisoner. 

Con. This becomes the great. 

Sorry am I his numbers are so few, 
His soldiers sick and fnniish'd in their march. 
For I am sure, when he shall see our army, 
He'll drop his heart into the sink of fear 
And for achievement offer us his ransom. 60 
Fr. King. Therefore, lord consfaible, haste 

on lilontjoy, 
And let him say to England that we send 



462 



KING HENRY V. 



[Act III. 



To know what willing ransom he will give. 
Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in 
Rouen. 
Dmi. Not so, I do beseech your majesty. 
Fr. Kiiu/. Be patient, for you shall remain 
with us. 
Now forth, lord constable and princes all, 
And quickly bring us word of England's fall. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VI. The English camp in Picurdy. 
Enter Gower and Fluellen, meeting. 

Goio. How now. Captain Fluellen ! come 
you from the bridge ? 

Flu. I assure you, there is very excellent 
services committed at the bridge. 

Gow. Is the Duke of Exeter safe ? 

FliL The Duke of Exeter is as magnani- 
mous as Agamemnon ; and a man that I love 
and honor with my soul, and my heart, and 
my duty, and my life, and my living, and 
my uttermost power : he is not— God be praised 
and blessed !— any hurt in the world ; but keeps 
the bridge most valiantly, with excellent dis- 
cipline. There is an aunchient lieutenant there 
at the pridge, I think in my very conscience he 
is as valiant a man as Mark Antony ; and he 
is a man of no estimation in the world ; but I 
did see him do as gallant service. 

Gow. What do you call him ? 

Flu. He is called Aunchient Pistol. 

Gow. I know him not. 20 

Enter Pistol. 

Flu. Here is the man. 

Fist. Captain, I thee beseech to do me fa- 
vors : 
The Duke of Exeter doth love thee well. 

Flu. Ay, I praise God ; and I have merited 
some love at his hands. 

Fist. Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound 
of heart. 
And of buxom valor, hath, by cruel fate. 
And giddy Fortune's furious fickle wheel, 
That'goddess blind, 30 

That stands upon the rolling restless stone — 

Flu. By your patience, Aunchient Pistol. 
Fortune is painted bhnd, with a muffler afore 
her eyes, to signify to you that Fortune is 
blind ; and she is painted also with a wheel, 
to signify to you, which is the moral of it, that 
she isturnhig, and inconstant, and mutability, 
and variation : and her foot, look you, is fixed 
upon a spherical .'itone, which rolls, and rolls, 
and rolls : in good truth, the poet makes a most 
excellent description of it : Fortune is an ex- 
cellent moral. 40 

Fist. Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns 
on him ; 
For he hath stolen a pax, and hanged must a' 

be : 
A damned death ! 

Let gallows gape for dog ; let man go free 
And let not hemp his wind-pipe suffocate : 
But Exet</r hath given the doom of death 



For pax of little price. 

Therefore, go speak : the duke will hear thy 

voice : 
And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut 
With edge of penny cord and vile reproach : 
Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee 
requite. 51 

Fht. Aunchient Pistol, I do partly uuder- 
•stand your meaning. 

Fist. Why then, rejoice therefore. 

Flu. Certainly, aunchient, it is not a thing 
to rejoice at : for if, look you, he were my 
brother, I would desire the duke to use his 
good pleasure, and put him to execution ; for 
discipline ought to be used. 

Fist. Die and be damu'd ! and figo for thy 
friendship ! 60 

Flu. It is well. 

Fist. The fig of Spain ! [Exit. 

Flu. Very good. 

Goio. Why, this is an arrant counterfeit 
rascal ; I remember him now ; a bawd, a cut- 
purse. 

Flu. I'll assure you, a' uttered as brave 
words at the bridge as you shall see in a sum- 
mer's day. But it is verj^ well ; what he has 
spoke .to me, that is well, I warrant you, when 
tune is sei've. 69 

Goto. Why, 'tis a gull, a fool, a rogue, that 
now and then goes to the wars, to grace him- 
self at his return into London under the fonn 
of a soldier. And such fellows are perfect in 
the great commanders' names : and they will 
learn you by rote Avhere services were done ; 
at such and such a sconce, at such a breach, at 
such a convoy ; who came off bravely, who 
was shot, who disgraced, what terms the 
enemy stood on ; and this they con perfectly 
in the phrase of war, which they trick up with 
new-tuned oaths : and what a beard of the 
general's cut and a horrid suit of the camp will 
do among foaming bottles and ale- washed 
wits, is wonderful to be thought on. But you 
must learn to know such slanders of the age, 
or else you may be marvellously mistook. 

Fbi. I tell you what, Captain Gower ; I do 
perceive he is not the man that he would gladly 
make show to the world he is : if I find a hofe 
in his coat, I will tell him my mind. [Drutn 
heai'd.] Hark you, the king is coming, and I 
must speak with him from the pridge. 91 

Drum and colors. Enter King Henry, 
Gloucester, and Soldiers. 

God pless your majesty ! 

K. Hen. How now, Fluellen ! earnest thou 
from the bridge ? 

Flu. Ay, so please your majesty. The 
Duke of Exeter has very gallantly maintained 
the pridge : the French is gone oiT, look you ; 
and there is gallant and most prave pass.'iges ; 
marry, th' athversary was have possession of 
the ))ridge ; but he is enforced to retire, and 
the Duke of Exeter is master of the pridge : I 
can tell your majesty, the duke is a prave 
man. 101 



Scene vii.] 



KING HENRY V. 



462 



K. Hen. "Wliat men have you lost, Fluellen? 

J'lu. The perdition of th' atliversaiy hath 
been very great, reasonable great : marry, for 
ray part, I think the duke hath lost never a 
nian, but one that is like to be executed for 
iohi)ing a church, one Bardolph,if your majesty 
know the man : his face is all bubukles, and 
whelks, and knobs, and flames o' fire : and his 
lips blows at his nose, and it is like a coal of 
fire, sometiuies plue and siuuctinu's red ; but 
his nose is executed and liis file's out. 

K. Hon. We would luixc all sucli offenders 
so cut off : and we give ex[)ress charge, that 
in our marches through the country, there be 
nothing compelled from tlie villages, nothing 
taken but paid for, none of tlie French upbraid- 
ed or abused in disdainful language ; for when 
'enity and cruelty play for a kuigdom, the 
I jentler gamester is the soonest winner. 120 

Tucket. Enter Montjoy. 

Mont. You know me by my habit. 

K. Hen. Well then I know thee : what shall 
1 know of thee ? 

Mont. My master's mind. 

K. Hen. Unfold it. 

Mont. Thus says my king : Say thou to 
Harry of England : Though we seemed dead, 
we did but sleep : advantage is a better soldier 
than rashness Tell him we could have rebuk- 
ei him at Harfleur, but that we thought not 
good to bruise an injury till it were fufi ripe : 
now we speak upon our cue, and our voice is 
imperial : England shall repent his folly, see 
liis weakness, and itduiire our sufferance. Bid 
him therefore consider of his ransom ; which 
must proportion the losses we have borne, the 
subjects we have lost, the disgrace we have 
digested ; which in weight to re-answer, his 
pettiness would bow under. For our losses, 
his exchequer is too poor ; for the effusion of 
our blood, the muster of his kingdom too faint 
a number ; and for our disgrace, his own 
person, kneeling at our feet, but a weak 
and worthless satisfaction. To this add defi- 
ance : and tell him, for conclusion, he hath 
betraj-ed his followers, whose condemnation is 
pronounced. So far my king and master ; so 
much my office. [quality. 

K. Hen. What is thy name? I know thy 

Mont. Montjoy. 

K. Hen. Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn 
thee back, 
A.iid tell thy king I do not seek him now ; 
But could be willing to uuirch on to Calais 150 
V\ithout impeachment : for, to say the sooth, 
Though 'tis no wisdom to confess so much 
Unto an enemy of craft and vantage, 
My people are with sickness much enfeebled, 
My numbers lessened, and those few I have 
Almost no better than so many French ; 
Who when they were iu health, I tell thee, 

herald, 
] thought upon one pair of English legs 
Pid march three Frenchmen. Yet, forgive 
me, God, 159 



That I do brag thus ! This your air of Franco 
Hath blown that vice in me ; I must repent. 
Go therefore, tell thy master here 1 am ; 
My ransom is this frail and worthless trunk, 
My army but a weak and sickly guard ; 
Yet, God before, tell hiiu we will come on. 
Though Franco himself and such another 

neighbor 
Stand in our way. There's for thy labor, 

Jlontjoy. 
Go, bid thy master well advise himself : 
If we may pass, we will ; if we be hiuder'd, 
\Ve shall your tawny ground with your red 

blood ' 170 

Discolor : and so, Moutjoy, fare you well. 
The sum of all our answer is but this : 
We would not seek a battle, as we are ; 
Nor, as we are, we saj' we will not shun it : 
So tell your master. 
Mont. I shall deliver so. Thanks to your 

highness. [Exit. 

Glou. I hope they will not come upon us 

now. 
K. Hen. We are in God's hand, brother, 

not in theirs. 
March to the bridge ; it now draws toward 

night : 
Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves, 180 
And on to-morrow, bid them march away. 

\^Exeurii. 

Scene VII. Tlie French Camp, near Jguicoiirt. 

Enter Hie Constable of France, the Lord 
Rambukes, Okleans, Dauphin, with others. 

Con. Tut ! I have the best armor of the 
world. Would it were day ! 

Orl. You have an excellent armor ; but let 
my horse have his due. 

Con. It is the best horse of Europe. 

Orl. Will it never be morning ? 

Dcni. My lord of Orleaus, and my lord high 
constable, you talk of horse and armor ? 

(/rl. You are as well provided of both as 
any prince in the world. 10 

Dau. What a long night is this ! f will 
not change my horse with any that treads but 
on four pasterns. Ca, ha ! he bounds from 
the earth, as if his entrails were hairs : le 
cheval volant, the Pegasus, chez les narines 
defeu ! When I bestride him, I soar, I am a 
hawk : he trots the air ; the earth sings when 
he touches it ; the basest burn of his ho»f is 
more musical than the pipe of Hermes. 

Orl. He's of the color of the nutmeg. 20 

Dew. And of the heat of the ginger. It is a 
beast for Perseus : he is pure air and fire ; and 
the dull elements of earth and water never 
appear iu him, but only in patient .stillness 
while his rider mounts him : he is indeed a 
liorse; and all other jades you may call beasts. 

Con. Indee I, my lord, it is a most absolute 
and excellent horse. 

Dcix. It is the prince of palfreys ; his 
neigh is like the bidding of a monarch and 
his countenance enforces homage. Ul 



464 



K[NG HENRY V. 



[Act in. 



Orl. No more, cousin. 

Dau. Nay, the niau hath no wit that can- 
not, from the rising of the larlv to the lodging 
of the lamb, vary deserved praise on my pal- 
frey : it is a theme as liuent as the sea : turn 
the sands into eloquent tongues, and my horse 
is argument for them all : 'tis a subject for a 
sovereign to reason on, and for a sovereign's 
sovereign to ride on ; and for the world, familiar 
to us and unknown to lay apart their particu- 
lar functions and wonder at him. I once 
writ a sonnet in his praise and began thus : 
' Wonder of nature,' — 

Orl. I have heard a sonnet begin so to 
one's mistress. 

Dau. Then did they imitate that which I 
composed to my courser, for my horse is mj 
mistress. 

Orl. Your mistress bears well. 

Dau. Me well ; which is the prescript 
pi-aise and perfection of a good and particular 
mistress. 

Con. Nay, for methouglit yesterday your 
mistress shrewdly shook your back. 

Dau. So perhaps did yours. 

Con. Mine was not bridled. 

Dau. O then belike she was old and gentle ; 
and you rode, like a kern of Ireland, your 
French hose off, and m your straiglit sti-ossers. 

Con. You have good judgment in horse- 
manship. 59 

Dau. Be warned by me, then : they that 
ride so and ride not warily, fall into foul bogs. 
I had rather have my horse to my mistress. 

Con. I had as lief have my mistress a jade. 

Dau. 1 tell thee, constable, my mistress 
wears his own hair. 

Con. I could make as true a boast as that, 
if I had a sow to my mistress. 

Dau. ' Le chien est retourne a son propre 
vomissement, et la truie lavee au bourbier ;' 
thou makest use of any thing. 70 

Con. Yet do I not use my horse for ray 
mistress, or any such proverb so little kin to 
the pijrpose. 

Ram. My lord constable, the armor that I 
saw in your tent to-night, are those stars or 
suns upon it ? 

Con. Stars, my lord. 

Dau. Some of them will fall to-morrow, I 
hope. 

Con. And yet my sky shall not want. 

Dau. That" may be, for you bear a many 
superfluously, and 'twere more honor some 
were away. 81 

Con. Even as your horse bears your 
praises ; who would trot as well, were some 
of your brags dismounted. 

Dau. Would I were able to load him with 
his desert ! Will it never be day ? I will 
trot to-morrow a mile, and my way shall be 
liaved with English faces. 

Con. I will not say so, for fear I should be 
faced out of my way : but I would it were 
morning ; for I would faiu be about the ears 
of the English. 



Ram. Who will go to hazard with me for 
twenty prisoners ? 

Con. You must first go yourself to hazard, 
ere you have them. 

Dau. 'Tis midnight ; I'll go arm myself. 

[JSxit. 

Orl. The Dauphin longs for morning. 

Ram. He longs to eat the English. 

Con. I think he will eat all he kills. 100 

Orl. By the white hand of my lady, he's a 
gallant prince. 

Con. Swear by her foot, that she may tread 
out the oath. 

Orl. He is simply the most active gentle- 
man of France. 

Con. Doing is activity ; and he will still be 
doing. 

Orl. He never did harm, that I heard of. 

Con. Nor will do none to-morrow : he will 
keep that good name still. Ill 

Orl. I know him to be valiant. 

Co7i. I was told that by oue that knows 
him better than you. 

Orl. What's he ? 

Con. Marry, he told me so himself ; and 
he said he cared not who knew it. 

Orl. He needs not ; it is no hidden virtue 
in him. 119 

Con. By my faith, sir, but it is ; never 
any body saw it but his lackey : 'tis a hooded 
valor ; and when it appears, it will bate. 

Orl. Ill will never said well. 

Con. I will cap that proverb with ' There is 
flattery in friendship.' 

Orl. And I will take up that with ' Give 
the devil his due.' 

Co7i. Well placed : there stands your friend 
for the devil : have at the very eye of that 
proverb with ' A pox of the devil.' 130 

Orl. You are the better at proverbs, by 
how much ' A fool's bolt is soon shot.' 

Con. You have shot over. 

Orl. 'Tis not the first time you were over- 
shot. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord high constable, the English 
lie within fifteen hundred paces of your tents. 

Con: Who hath mejisured the ground ? 

Mess. The Lord Grandpre. 

Con. A valiant and most expert gentleman. 
Would it were day ! Alas, poor Harry of 
England ! he longs not for the dawning as we 
do. 141 

Orl. What a wretched and peevish fellow 
is this king of England, to mope with his fat- 
brained followers so far out of his knowledge ! 

Con. If the English had any apprehension, 
they would run away. 

Orl. That they lack ; for if their heads 
had any intellectual armor, they could never 
wear such heavy head-pieces. 149 

Ram. That island of England breeds very 
valiant creatures ; their mastiffs are of un- 
matchable courage. 

Orl. Foolish curs, that run winking into 



SCliNE 1.] 



KWG HENRY V. 



46S 



the mouth ot a Rassiau bear aud have their 
heads crushed like rotten apples ! You may 
as well say, that's a valiant tlea that dare eat 
his breaivi'ast on the lip of a lion. 

Con. Just, just ; and the men do sympa- 
thize with the mastiffs in robustious and 
rougii coming on, leaviug tlieir wits with tlieir 
wives : and then give them grent meais of 
beef and iron and steel, they will eat like 
wolves and fight lilve devils. 

Orl. Ay, but tiiese English are shrewdly 
out of beef. 

Con. Then shall we find to-morrow they 
have only stomachs to eat and none to fight. 
Now is it time to arm : come, shall we about 
it? 

Orl. It is now two o'clock : but, let me 
see, by ten 
We shall have each a hundred Englishmen. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 

PROLOGUE. 

Enter Chorus. 
Chor. Now entertain conjecture of a time 
When creeping murmur and the poring dark 
Fills the wide vessel of the universe. 
From camp to camp through the foul womb 

of night 
The hum of either army stilly sounds. 
That the fixed sentinels ahuost receive 
The secret whispers of eacli otlier's watch : 
Fire answers fire, and through their paly 

flames 
Each battle sees the other's umber'd face ; 
Steed threatens steed, in high aud boastful 

neighs 10 

Piercing tlie night's dull ear, and from the 

tents 
The armorers, accomplishing the knights, 
With busy hammers closing rivets up. 
Give dreadful note of preparation : 
Tlie country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll, 
And tlie third hour of drowsy morning name. 
Proud of their numbers and secure in soul. 
The confident and over-lusty French 
Do the low-rated English play at dice ; 
And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night 20 
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp 
So tediously away. The poor condemned 

English, 
Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires 
Sit patiently and inly ruminate 
The morning's danger, and their gesture sad 
Investing lank-lean cheeks and wjir-worn coats 
Presenteth them unto the gazing moon 
So many horrid gliosts. now, wlio will be- 
hold 
The royal captain of this ruin'd band 
Walking from watch to watch, from tent to 

tent, 30 

Let him cry ' Praise and glory on liis head ! ' 
foi forth lie goes and visits all his host, 



Bids them good morrow with a modest smile 
And calls tlieni brothers, friends aud country- 
men. 
Upon his royal face there is no note 
liow dread an army hath enroundedhim ; 
Nor doth lie dedicate one jot of color 
Unto the weary and all-walclied niglit, 
But freslily looks and over-bears attiiint 
Witli cheerful sembhiiue and sweet majesty ; 
That every wretch, ]>iiiiiig and pale before, 41 
Beholding him, plucks comfoit from his looks: 
A largess universal like the sun 
His liberal eye dotli gi\ e to every one. 
Thawing cold fear, tthat mean aud gentle all. 
Behold, as may unworthiness define, 
A little touch of Harry in the iiiglit. 
And so our scene must to tlie battle fly ; 
Wliere — for pity ! — we sliall much disgrace 
Witli four or five most vile and ragged foils, 
Riglit ill-disposed in brawl ridiculous, 51 

The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see. 
Minding true things by what their mockeries 
be. [Exit. 

Scene I. The English camp at Acjincowt. 

Enter King Henry, Bedford, and Glou- 
cester. 

K. Hen. Gloucester, 'tis true that we are in 
great danger ; 
The greater therefore should our courage be. 
Good morrow, brother Bedford. God Al- 
mighty ! 
There is some soul of goodness in things evil, 
Would men observingly distil it out. 
For our bad neighbor makes us eai'ly stirrers, 
Which is both healthful and good husbandry: 
Besides, they are our outward consciences, 
Aud preachers to us all, admoriishing 
That we should dress us fairly for our end. 10 
Thus may we gather honey from the weed, 
And make a moral of the devil himself. 

Enter Erpingham. 

Good morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham : 
A good soft pillow for that good white head 
Were better than a churlisli turf of France. 

Erp. Not so, my liege : this lodging hkes 
me better. 
Since I may say ' Now lie I like a king.' 

K. Hen. 'Tis good for men to love their 
present pains 
Upon example ; so the spirit is eased : 19 

And when the mind is quicken'd, out of doubt, 
The organs, though defunct and dead before, 
Break up their drowsy grave and newly move, 
With casted slough aud fresh legerity. 
Leud me thy cloak, Sir Thomas. Brothers 

both, 
Commend me to the princes in our camp ; 
Do my good morrow to them, and anon 
Desire them all to my pavilion. 

Glou. We shall, my liege. 

Erp. Shall I attend your grace ? 

K. Hen. No, my good knight ; 

Go with my brothers to my lords of Eugiaud : 

80 



ktNG SENRY V. 



{kct 



IV. 



I and my bosom mu^t debate awhile, 31 

And then I would no other company. 

Erp. The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble 
Harry ! [Exeunt all but Kin;/. 

K. Hen. God-a-mercy, old heart ! thou 
speak'st cheerfully. 

Enter Pistol. 

Pist. Qui va la ? 

K. Hen. A friend. 

Pist. Discuss unto me ; art thou officer ? 
Or art thou base, common and popular ? 

K. Hen. I am a gentleman of a company. 

Pist. Trail'st thou the puissant j)ike? 40 

K. Hen. Even so. What are you ? 

Pist. As good a gentleman as the emperor. 

K. Hen. Then you are a better than tlie 
king. 

Pist. The king's a bawcock, and a heart of 
gold, 
A lad of life, an imp of fame ; 
Of parents good, of fist most valiant. 
1 kiss his dirty shoe, and from heart-string 
I love the lovely bully. What is thy name ? 

K. Hen. Harry le Roy. 

Pist. Le Roy ! a Cornish name : art thou 
of Cornish crew ? 50 

K. Hen. No, I am a Welshman. 

Pist. Know'st thou Fluellen ? 

K. Hen. Yes. 

Pist. Tell him, I'll knock his leek about 
his pate 
Upon Saint Davy's day. 

K. Hen. Do not you wear your dagger in 
your cap that day, lest he knock that about 
yours. 

Pist. Art thou his friend ? 

K. Hen. And his kinsman too. 

Pist. The figo for thee, tlien ! 60 

K. Hen. I thank you : God be with you ! 

Pist. My name is Pistol call'd. [Exit. 

K. Hen. It sorts well with your fierceness. 
Enter Fluellen and Gower. 

Gow. Captain Fluellen ! 

Fin. So ! in the name of Jesu Christ, speak 
lower. It is the greatest admiration of the 
universal world, when the true and aunchient 
prerogatifes and laws of the wars is not kept: 
if you would take the pains but to examine 
the wars of Pompey the Great, you shall find, 
I warrant you, that there is no tiddle taddle 
nor pibble pabble in Pompey' s camp ; I war- 
rant you, you shall find the ceremonies of the 
wars, and the cares of it, and the forms of it, 
and the sobriety of it, and the modesty of it, 
to be otherwise. 

Gow. Why, the. enemy is loud ; you hear 
him all night. 

Flu. If the enemy is an ass and a fool and 
a prating coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that 
we should also, look you, be an ass and a fool 
and a prating coxcomb ? in your own con- 
science, now ? 

Gow. I will speak lower. 

Flu. I pray you and beseech you that you 
will. [Exeunt Gower and Fluellen. 



K. Hen. Though it appear a little out of 
fashion. 
There is much care and valor in this Welsh- 
man. 

Enter three soldiers, John Bates, Alexan- 
der Court, a7id Michael Williams. 

Court. Brother John Bates, is not that the 
morning which breaks yonder ? 

Bates. I think it be : but we have no great 

cause to desire the approach of day. 00 

Will. We see yonder the beginning of the 

day, but I think we shall never see the end of 

it. Who goes there ? 

K. Hen. A friend. 

Will. Under what captain serve you ? 

K. Hen. Under Sir Thomas Erpingham. 

Will. A good old connnander and a most 
kind gentleman : I pray you, what thinks he 
of our estate ? 

K. Hen. Even as men wrecked upon a sand, 
that look to be washed off the next tide. 101 

Bates. He hath not told his thought to the 
king? 

K. Hen. No ; nor it is not meet he should. 
For, thougli I speak it to you, I think the 
king is but a man, as I am : the violet smells 
to him as it doth to me : the element shows to 
him as it doth to me ; all his senses have but 
human conditions : his ceremonies laid bj% in 
his nakedness he appears but a man ; and 
though his affections are liigher mounted tlian 
ours, yet, wlien they stoop, they stoop with 
tlie like wing. Therefore when lie sees reason 
of fears, as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be 
of the same relish as ours are : yet, in reason, 
no man should possess him with any apj^ear- 
ance of fear, lest he, by showing it, should 
dishearten his army. 

Bates. He may show what outward courage 
he will ; but I believe, as cold a night as 'tis, 
he could wish himself in Thames up to the 
neck ; and so I would he were, and I by him, 
at all adventures, so we were quit here. 

K. Hen. By my troth, I will speak my con- 
science of tlie king : I tliink he would not wish 
himself any where but where he is. 

Bates. Then I would he were here alone ; 
so should he be sure to be ransomed, and a 
many poor men's lives saved. 

K. Hen. I dare say you love him not so ill, 
to wish him here alone, howsoever you speak 
this to feel other men's minds : methinks I 
could not die any where so contented as in the 
king's company ; his cause being just and his 
quarrel honorable. 

Will. That's more than we know. 

Bates. Ay, or more than we should seek 
after; for we know enough, if we know we are 
the king's subjects : if his cause be wrong, 
our obedience to the king wipes the crime of 
it out of us. 

Will. But if the cause be not good, the 
king himself hath a heavy reckoning to make, 
when all those legs and arms and heads, 
chopped off in battle, shall join together at the 



fecENE I. 



KING HENRY V. 



4G1 



latter day and cry all ' We died at such a 
place ;' some swearing, some crying for a 
surgeon, some upon their wives left poor be- 
hind them, some upon the debts tliey owe, 
some upon their children rawly left. I am 
afeard there are few die well that die in a bat- 
tle; for how can tliey charitably dispose of any 
thing, when blood is their argument ? Now, 
if tliese men do not die well, it will be a black 
matter for the king that led them to it ; whom 
to disobey were against all proportion of sub- 
jection. 

K. Hen. So, if a son that is by his father 
sent about merchandise do sinf uUy miscarry 
uponthesea, the imputation of his wickedness, 
by your rule, should be imposed upon his 
father that sent him : or if a servant, under 
his master's command transporting a sum of 
money, be assailed by robbers and die in 
many irreconciled iniquities, you may call the 
business of the master the author of the ser- 
vant's damnation : but this is not so : the king 
is not bound to answer the particular endings 
of his soldiers, the fatlier of his son, nor the 
master of his servant ; for they purpose not 
their death, wlien they purpose their services. 
Besides, there is no king, be his cause never so 
spotless, if it come to the arbitrement of 
8words, can try it out with all unspotted sol- 
diers : some peradveuture have on them the 
guilt of premeditated and contrived murder ; 
some, of beguiling virgins with the broken 
seals of perjury ; some, making the wars their 
bulwark, that have before gored the gentle 
bosom of peace with pillage and robbery. 
Now, if these men have defeated the law and 
outrun native punishment, though tliey can 
outstrip men, they have no wings to tly from 
God : war is his beadle, war is his vengeance; 
so that here men are punished for bef ore- 
breach of the king's laws in now the king's 
quarrel : where tliey feared the death, they 
nave borne life away ; and where they would 
be safe, they perish : then if they die unpro- 
vided, no more is the king guilty of their dam- 
nation than he was before guilty of those im- 
pieties for the which they are now visited. 
Every subject's duty is the king's ; but every 
subject's soul is his own. Therefore should 
every soldier in the wars do as every sick man 
in his bed, wasli every mote out of his con- 
science : and dying so,' death is to him advan- 
tage ; or not dying, the time was blessedly lost 
wherein such preparation was gained : and in 
him that escapes, it were not sin to think that, 
making God so free an offer, He let him out- 
live that day to see His greatness and to teach 
others how they should prepare. 

Will. 'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, 
the ill upon his own head, the king is not to 
answer it. 199 

Bates. But I do not desire he should answer 
for me ; and yet I determine to fight lustily 
for him. 

K. Hen. I myself heard the king say he 
^uld not be ransomed. 



Will. Ay, he said so, to make us fignt 
cheerfully : but when our throats are cut, he 
may be ransomed, and we ne'er the wiser. 

k. Hen. If I live to see it, I will never trust 
his word after. 

Will. You pay him then. That's a perilous 
shot out of an elder-gun, that a poor and 
private displeasure can do against a monarch ! 
you may as well go about to turn the sun to 
ice with fanning in his face with a peacock's 
feather. You'll never trust his word after! 
come, 'tis a foolish saying. 

K. Hen. Your reproof is something too 
round : I should be angry with you, ii tlie 
time were convenient. 

Will. Let it be a quarrel between us, if you 
live. 220 

K Hen. I embrace it. 

Will. How shall I know thee again ? 

K. Hen. Give me any gage of thine, and 
I will wear it in my bonnet : then, if ever thou 
darest acknowledge it, I will make it my 
quarrel. 

Will. Here's my glove : give me another of 
thine. 

K. Hen. There. 

Will. This will I also wear in my cap : jf 
ever thou come to me and say, after to-mor- 
row, ' This is my glove,' by this hand, 1 will 
take thee a box on the ear. 

K. Hen. If ever I live to see it, I will chal- 
lenge it. 

Will. Thou darest as well be hanged. 

K. Hen. Well, I will do it, thougli I take 
thee in the king's company. . 

Will. Keep thy word : fare tliee well. 

Bates. Be friends, you English fools, be 
friends : we have French quarrels enow, if you 
could tell how to reckon. 241 

K. Hen. Indeed, the French may lay twenty 
French crowns to one, they will beat us ; for 
they bear them on their shoulders : but it is 
no English treason to cut French crowns, and 
to-morrow the king himself will be a clipper. 
[Exeunt soldiers. 
Upon the king ! let us our lives, our souls, 
Our debts, our careful wives, 
Our children and our sins lay on the king ! 
We must bear all. hard condition, 250 

Twin-born with greatness, subject to the 

breath 
Of every fool, whose sense no more can feel 
But his own wringing ! What infinite heart' s- 

ease 
Must kings neglect, that private men enjoy ! 
And what have kings, that privates have not 

too. 
Save ceremony, save general ceremony ? 
And what art thou, thou idol ceremony ? 
What kind of god art thou, that suffer' st more 
Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers ? 
What are thy rents ? whafare thy comings in ? 
O ceremony, show me but thy worth ! 261 
tWhat is thy soul of adoration ? 
Art thou aught else but place, degree and form, 
Creating awe and fear in other men ? 



468 



KING HENRY V. 



[Act ir. 



Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd 

Thau they in fearing. 

Wlaat drink' st tliou oft, instead of liomage 

sweet. 
But poison'd flattery ? O, be sick, great great- 
ness, 
And bid thy ceremony give thee cure ! 
Thiuk'st thou the fiery fever will go out 270 
With titles blown from adulation ? 
Will it give j)l;ice to flexure and low bending ? 
Canst thou, when thou command'stthe beggar's 

knee, 
Command the health of it ? No, thou proud 

dream, 
That play'st so subtly with a king's repose ; 
I aiu a king that find thee, and 1 know 
'Tis not the balm, the sceptre and the ball, 
Tlie sword, the nmce, the crown imperial, 
The intertissued robe of gold and pearl, 
The farced title running 'fore the king, 280 
The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp 
That beats upon the high shore of this world, 
No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony, 
Not all these, laid iu bed majestical, 
Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave, 
Who with a body fill'd and vacant mind 
Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful 

bread ; 
Never sees horrid night, the child of hell, 
But, like a lackey, from the rise to set 
Sweats in the eye of Phoebus and all night 290 
Sleeps iu Elysium ; next day after dawn. 
Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse, 
And follows so tlie ever-running year, 
With profitable labor, to his grave : 
And, but for ceremony, such a wretch. 
Winding up days with toil and nights with 

sleep, 
Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king. 
The slave, a member of the country's peace. 
Enjoys it ; but in gross brain little wots 
What watch the king keeps to maintain the 

peace, 300 

Whose hours the peasant best advantages. 

Enter Erpingham. 

Erp. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your 
absence. 
Seek through your camp to find you. 

K. Hen. Good old knight, 

Collect them all together at my tent : 
I'll be before thee. 
Erp. I shall do't, my lord. iExit. 

K. Hen. God of battles ! steal my soldiers' 
hearts ; 
Possess them not with fear ; take from them 

now 
The sense of reckoning, if the opposed num- 
bers 
Pluck their hearts from them. Not to-day, 

Lord, 
O, not to-day, think not upon the fault 310 
My father made in compassing the crown ! 
I Richard's body have interred anew ; 
And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears 
TJiaa from it issued forced drops of blood • 



Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, 
Who twice a-day their wither'd hands hold up 
Toward heaven, to pardon blood ; and I have 

built 
Two chantries, where the sad and solemn 

priests 
Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do ; 
Though all that I can do is nothing worth, 320 
Since that my penitence comes after all, 
Imploring pardon. 

Enter Gloucester. 
Glou. My liege ! 
K. Hen. My brother Gloucester's voice ? 

Ay; 
I know thy errand, I will go with thee : 
The day, my friends and all things stay for 

me. \^Exeunt. 

Scene II. The French camp. 
Enter the Dauphin, Orleans, Rambures, 
and others. 
Orl. The sun doth gild our armor ; up, my 

lords ! 
Dau. Montez a cheval ! My horse ! varlet ! 

laquais ! ha ! 
Orl. O brave spirit ! 
Dau. Via ! les eaux et la terre. 
Orl. Rien puis ? I'air et la feu. 
Dau. Ciel, cousin Orleans. 

Enter Constable. 
Now, my lord constable ! 
Con. Hark, how our steeds for present ser- 
vice neigh ! 
Dari. Mount them, and make incision in 
their hides, 9 

That their hot blood may spin in English eyes, 
And dout them with superfluous courage, ha ! 
Ram. What, will you have them weep our 
horses' blood ? 
How shall we, then, behold their natural tears? 
Enter Messenger. 
Mess. The English are embattled, you 

French peers. 
Con. To horse, you gallant princes ! straight 
to horse ! 
Do but behold yon poor and starved band. 
And your fair show shall suck away their 

souls. 
Leaving them but the shales and husks of 

men. 
There is not work enough for all our hands ; 
Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins 20 
To give each naked curtle-axe a stain, 
That our French gallants shall to-day draw 

out, 
And sheathe for lack of sport : let us but blow 

on them, 
The vapor of our valor will o'erturn them. 
'Tis pos'tive 'gainst all exceptions, lords. 
That our superfluous lackeys and our peasants, 
Who in unnecessary action swarm 
About our squares of battle, were enow 
To purge this field of such a hilding foe. 
Though we uoon this mountain's basis by 30 



Scene iii.l 



KING HENRY V. 



469 



Took stand for idle speculation : 

But that our honors must not. What's to say ? 

A very little little let us do, 

And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound 

The tucket sonance and the note to mount ; 

For our approach shall so much dare the field 

That England shall couch down in fear and 

yield. 

Enter Gkajs'dpre. 
Grand. Why do you stay so long, my lords 

of France ? 
Yon island carrions, desperate of their bones, 
lU-favoredly become the morning field : 40 
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose. 
And our air shakes them passing scornfully : 
Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar' d 

host 
And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps : 
The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks, 
iVith torch -staves in their hand ; and their 

poor jades 
Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and 

hips. 
The gum down-roping from their pale-dead 

eyes 
And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit 
Lies foul with chew'd grass, still and motion- 
less ; 50 
And their executors, the knavish crows. 
Fly o'er them, all impatient for their hour. 
Description cannot suit itself in words 
To demonstrate the life of such a battle 
In life so lifeless as it shows itself. 

Con. They have said their prayers, and 

they stay for death. 
Dan. Shall we go send them dinners and 

fresh suits 
And give their fasting horses provender. 
And after fight with them ? 

Con. I stay but for my guidon : to the 

field ! 60 

I will the banner from a trumpet take, 
And use it for my haste. Come, come, away ! 
The sun is high, "and we outwear the day. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IIL The English cam}?. 
Enter Gloucester, Bedford, Exeter, Er- 
piNGHAM, ivith all his host : Salisbury and 
Westmoreland. 
Glou. Where is the king ? 
Bed. The king himself is rode to view their 

battle. 
West. Of fighting men they have full three 

score thousand. 
Exe. There's five to one ; besides, they all 

are fresh. 
Sal. God's arm strike with us ! 'tis a fear- 
ful odds. 
God be wi' you, princes all ; I'll to my charge : 
If we no more meet till we meet in heaven, 
Then, joyfully, my noble Lord of Bedford, 
My dear Lord Gloucester, and my good Lord 

Exeter, 
And my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu ! 10 



Bed. ■ Farewell, good Salisbury ; and good 

luck go with thee ! 
Exe. Farewell, kind lord ; fight valiantly 
to-day : 
And yet I do thee wrong to mind tliee of it, 
For tiiou art framed of tJie firm truth of valor. 
[Exit Salisbury. 
Bed. He is full of valor as of kindness ; 
Princely in both. 

Enter the King. 

West. that we now had here 

But one ten thousand of those men in Eng- 
land 
That do no work to-day ! 

A'. Hen. What's he that wishes so ? 

My cousin Westmoreland ? No, my fair 

cousin : 
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow 20 

To do our country loss ; and if to live, 
The fewer men, the greater share of honor. 
God's will ! I pray thee, wish not one man 

more. 
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, 
Nor care 1 W'ho doth feed upon my cost ; 
It yearns me not if men my garments wear ; 
Such outward things dwell not in my desires : 
But if it be a sin to covet honor, 
I am the most offending soul alive. 
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from Eng- 
land : 30 
God's peace ! I would not lose so great an 

honor 
As one man more, methinks, would share 

from me 
For the best hope I have. 0, do not wish one 

more ! 
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through 

my host, 
That he which hath no stomach to this fight. 
Let him depart ; his passport shall be nuide 
And crowns for convoy put into his purse : 
We would not die in that man's company 
That fears his fellowship to die with us. 
This dav is called the feast of Crispian : 40 
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, 
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named. 
And rouse him at the name of Crispian. 
He that shall live this day, and see old age. 
Will yearlv on the vigil feast his neiglibors, 
And say 'To-morrovv is Saint Crispian : ' 
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his 

scars. 
And say ' These wounds I had on Crispin's 

day.' 
Old men forget : yet all shall be forgot, 
But he'll reiuember with advantages 50 

What feats he did that day : then shall our 

names. 
Familiar in his mouth as household words, 
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter, 
AVarwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester, 
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd. 
This story shall the sood man teach his son ; 
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, 
From this day to the ending of the world, 



470 



KING HENRY V. 



[Act IV. 



But we in it shall be remember'd ; 

We few, we lKi|)py few, we band of brothers ; 

For he to-day tliat sheds his blood with me 

Shall be my brother ; be he ne'er so vile, 

This day shall gentle his condition : 

And gentlemen in England nowa-bed 

Shall think themselves accursed they were not 

here, 
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any 

speaks 
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day. 
Re-enter Salisbury. 
Sal. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself 
with speed : 
The French are bravely in their battles set. 
And will with all expedience charge on us. 70 
K. Hen. All things are ready, if our minds 

be so. 
West. Perish the man whose mind is back- 
ward now ! 
K. Hen. Thou dost not wish more help from 

England, coz ? 
West. God's will! my liege, would you and 
I alone, 
Without more help, could fight this royal battle ! 
K. Hen. Why, now thou hast unwish'd five 
thousand men ; 
Which likes me better than to wish us one. 
You know your places : God be with you all ! 
Tucket. Enter Montjov. 
Mont. Once more I come to know of thee. 
King Harry, 
If tor thy ransom thou wilt now compound, 80 
Before thy most assured overthi'ow : 
For certainly thou art so near the gulf. 
Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in 

mercy, 
Tiie constable desires thee thou wilt mind 
Thy foUowei's of repentance ; that their souls 
May make a peaceful and a sweet retire 
From off these fields, where, wretches, their 

poor bodies 
Mu.st lie and fester. 
K. Hen. Who hath sent thee now ? 

Mont. The Consfcible of France. 
K. Hen. I pray thee, bear my former an- 
swer back : 90 
Bid theui aciiieve me and then sell my bones. 
Good God ! why should they mock poor fellows 

tlms ? 
The man that once did sell the lion's skin 
While the beast lived, was killed with hunting 

him. 
A many of our bodies shall no doubt 
Find native graves ; upon the which, I trust. 
Shall witness live in brass of this day's work : 
And those that leave their valiant bones in 

France, 
Dying like men, though buried in your dung- 
hills. 
They shall be famed ; for there the sun shall 
greet them, 100 

iuid draw their honors reeking up to heaven ; 
Leaving their earthly parts to choke your 
clinae. 



The smell whereof shall breed a plague in 

France. 
Mark then abounding valor in our English, 
That being dead, like to the bullet's grazing. 
Break out into a second course of mischief. 
Killing in relapse of mortality. i 

Let me speak proudly : tell the constable 
We are but warriors for the working-day ; 
Ourgayness and our gilt are all besmirch'd 110 
With rainy marching in the painful field ; 
There's not a piece of feather in our host — 
Good argument, I hope, we will not flj- — 
And time hath worn us into slovenry : 
But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim ; 
And my poor soldiers tell me, yet ere night 
They'll be in fresher robes, or they will pluck _ 
The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' ■ 

heads % 

And turn them out of service. If they do this, — 
As, if God please, tliey shall, — my ransom then 
Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thv 

labor ; 121 

Come thou no more for ransom, gentle lierald: 
They shall have none, I swear, but these my 

joints ; 
Which if they have as I will leave 'em them. 
Shall yield them little, tell the constable. 
Mont. I shall. King Harry. And so fare' 

thee well : 
Thou never shalt hear h«rald any more. [Exit. 
K. Hen. I fear thou 'It once more come 

again for ransom. 

Enter York. 
York. My lord, most humbly on my knee I 

beg 

The leading of the vaward. loO 

K. Hen. Take it, brave York. Now, sol- 
diers, march away : 
And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day ! 

\Exeunt. 

Scene IV. The field of battle. 

Alarum. Excursions. Enter Pistol, French 
Soldier, and Boy. 

Pist. Yield, cur ! 

Fr. Sol. Je peuse que vous etes gentilhomme 
de bonne qualite. 

Pist. Qualtitie calmie custure me ! Art 
thou a gentleman ? what is thy name ? discuss. 

Fr. Sol O Seigneur Dieu '! 

Pist. 0, Siguieur Dew should be a gentle- 
man : 
Perpend my Avords, O Signieur Dew, and 

mark ; 
Signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox, 
Except, O signieur, thou do give to me 10 

Egregious ransom. 

Fr. Sol. 0, prenez misericorde ! ayez pitie 
de moi ! 

Pist. Moy shall not serve ; I will have forty 
moys ; 
Or I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat 
In drops of crimson blood. 

Fr. Sol. Est-iJ impossible d'echapper Uj 
force de ton bras ? 



Scene vi.] 



KING HENRY V, 



471 



Pist. Brass, cur ! 
Thou damued and luxurious mountain goat, 20 
OlTer'st me brass ? 

Fr. Sol. O pardonnez moi ! 

Pist. Say'st thou me so ? is that a ton of 
moys ? 
Come liitlier, boy : ask me this slave in French 
What is his name. 

Buij. Ecoutez : comment etes-vous appele ? 

Fv. Sol. Monsieur le Fer. 

Boy. He says his name is Master Fer. 

Pist. Master Fer ! I'll fer him, and firk liim, 
and ferret him : discuss the same in Freucli 
unto him. 31 

Boy. I do not know the French for fer, and 
ferret, and tirk. 

Pi.ft. Bid him prepare ; for I will cut his 
throat. 

Fr. Sol. Que dit-il, monsieur ? 

Boy. II me commande de voiis dire que vous 
faites vous pret ; car ce soldat ici est dispose 
tout a cette lieure de couper votre gorge. 

Pist. Uwy, cuppele gorge, permafoy. 
Peasant, unless tliou give me crowns, brave 
crowns ; 40 

Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword. 

Fr. Sol. O, je vous supplie, pour I'amour 
de Dieu, me pardonner ! Je suis gentilhomme 
de bonne maison : gardez ma vie, et je vous 
dounerai deux cents ecus. 

Pist. What are his words ? 

Boy. He prays you to save his life : he is a 
gentleman of a good hoH.'<e ; and for his 
ran.soni lie will give you two hundred crowns. 

Pist. Tell him my fury shall abate, and I 
The crowns will take. 51 

Fr. Sol. Petit monsieur, que dit-il ? 

Boy. Encore qu'il est contre son jurement 
de pardonner aucuu prisonuier, ne'anmoins, 
pour les ecus que vous I'avez proniis, il est 
content de vous donner la liberte, le franchise- 
nsent. 

Fr. Sol. Sur mes genoux je vous donne 
mille remercimens ; etjem'estiuieheureuxque 
je suis tombe entre les mains d'un chevalier, 
je pense, le plus brave, vaillant, et tres dis- 
thigue' seigneur d' Angleterre. 61 

/'/.s^ Expoiuid unto me, boy. 

Boy. He gives you, ujwn his knees, a thou- 
sand thanks ; and he esteems himself happy 
that he hath fallen into the hands of one, as 
he thinks, the most brave, valorous, and thrice- 
worthy signieur of England. 

Pist. As I suck blood, I will some mercy 
show. 
Follow me ! 69 

Boy. Suivez-vous le grand c^apitaine. [Fxe^int 
Pistol, and Froich Soldia:^ I did never know 
so full a voice issue from so em])ty a heart : 
but the saying is true, ' The empty ves.sel 
makes the greatest sound.' Bardolph and Nym 
liad ten times more valor than this roaring 
devil i' the old play, that every one may pare 
liis nails with a wooden dagger : and they are 
both hanged ; and so would this be, if he durst 
steal any thing adventurously. I must stay 



with the lackeys, with the luggage of our camp: 
the French might have a good prey of us, if he 
knew of it ; for there is none to guard it but 
boys. [Exit. 

Scene V. Another part of the field. 

Enter Constable, Orleans, Bourbon, 
Dauphin, and Rambures, 

Con. O diable ! 

Orl. O seigneur ! le jour est perdu, tout est 

perdu ! 
Duv. Mort de ma vie ! all is confounded, 
all! 
Reproach and everlasting shame 
Sits mocking in our plumes. O mechaute for- 
tune ! 
Do not run away. [..4 short alarum. 

Con. Why, all our ranks are broke. 

Dau. O perdurable shame ! let's stab our- 
selves. 
Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice 
for? 
Orl. Is this the king we sent to for his 

ransom ? 
Bovr. Shame and eternal shame, nothing 
but shame ! 10 

Let us die in honor : once more back again ; 
And he that Avill not follow Bourbon now, 
Let liim go hence, and with his cap in hand, 
Like a base pander, hold the chamber-door 
Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog, 
His fairest daughter is contaminated. 

Coil. Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend 
us now ! 
Let us on heaps go offer up our lives. 

(jrl. We are enow yet living in the field 
To smother up tlie English in our throngs, 20 
If any order might be thought upon. 
Bour. The devil take order now ! I'll to the 
throng : 
Let life be short ; else shame will he too long. 

[Exeu7it. 

Scene VI. Another part of the field. 

Alarnms. Enter King Henry and forces, 
Exeter, and others. 

K. Hen. Well have we done, thrice valiant 
countrymen : 
But all's not done ; yet keep the French the 
field. 
Exe. The Duke of York commends him to 

your majestj'. 
K. lien. Lives he, good uncle ? thrice within 
this hour 
I saw him down ; thrice up again and fighting; 
From helmet to the spur all bl(X)d he was. 
Exe. In which array, brave soldier, doth he 
lie. 
Larding the plain ; and by his bloody side, 
Yoke-fellow to his honor-owing wounds. 
The noble Earl of Suffolk also lies. 10 

Suffolk first died : and York, all haggled over, 
Conies to him, where in gore he lay insteeii'd, 
Aud ^kes liim by the beard ; kisses the gashes 



472 



KING HENRY V. 



[Act IV. 



That bloodily did yawn upon his face ; 
And cries aloud ' Tarry, dear cousin Suiiolk ! 
My soul shall thine keep company to heaven ; 
Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast, 
As in this glorious an \ well-foughten field 
We kept together in our chivalry ! ' 19 

Upon these words I came and cheer'd him up: 
He smiled me in the face, raught me his hand, 
And, with a feeble gripe, says ' Dear my lord, 
Commend my service to ray sovereign.' 
So did he turn and over Suffolk's neck 
He threw his wounded arm and kiss'd his lips ; 
And so espoused to death , with blood he seal'd 
A testament of noble-ending love. 
The pretty and sweet manner of it forced 
Those waters from me which 1 would have 

stopp'd ; 
But I had not so much of man in me, 30 

And all my mother came into mine eyes 
And gave me up to tears. 

K. Hen. I blame you not ; 

For, hearing this, I must perforce compound 
With mistf ul eyes, or they will issue too. 

[Alarum. 
But, hark ! what new alarum is this same ? 
The French have reinforced their scatter' d 

men : 
Then every soldier kill his prisoners : 
Give the word through. [Exeunt. 

Scene VH. Another part of the field. 
Enter Fluellen and Gower. 

Flu. Kill the iioys and the luggage ! 'tis ex- 
pressly agaiust the law of arms: 'tis as arrant a 
piece of kuavery, mark you now, as can be 
offer't ; in your conscience, now, is it not ? 

Goio. "lis certain there's not a boy left 
alive ; and the cowardly rascals that ran from 
the battle ha' done tliis slaughter : besides, 
they have burned and carried away all that 
was in the king's tent ; wherefore the king, 
most worthily, hath caused every soldier to 
cut his prisoner's throat. 0, 'tis a gallant 
king ! 11 

Flu. Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, Cap- 
tain Gower. What call you the town's nauie 
where Alexander the Pig was born ! 

Goio. Alexander the Great. 

Flu. Why, I pray you, is not pig great ? the 
pig, or tlie great, or the mighty, or the huge, 
or the magnanimous, are all one reckonings, 
save the phrase is a little variations. 19 

Gow. I think Alexander the Great was born 
in Macedon ; his father was called Philip of 
Macedou, as I take it. 

Flu. I think it is in Macedon where Alex- 
ander is porn. I tell you, captain, if you look 
in the maps of the 'orld, I warrant you sail 
find, in the comparisons between Macedon and 
Monmouth, that the situations, look you, is 
both alike. There is a river in Macedon ; and 
there is also moreover a river in Monmouth: 
it is called Wye at Monmouth ; but it is out 
of my prains what is the name of the other 
fiver; but 'tis all one, 'tis alike as my fingers 



is to my fingers, and there is salmons in both, 
If you mark Alexander's life well, Harry of 
Monmouth's life is come after it indifferen'i 
well ; for there is figures in all things. Alex- 
ander, God knows, and you know, in his rages, 
and his furies, and his wraths, andhischolers, 
and his moods, and his displeasures, and his 
indignations, and also being ,n, little intoxicates 
in his prains, did, in his ales and his angers, 
look you, kill his best friend, Cleitiis. 41 

Goiv. Our king is not lilvC him in that ; he 
never killed any of his friends. 

Flu. It is not well done, mark you now, to 
take the tales out of my mouth, ere it is made 
and finished. I speak but in the figures and 
comparisons of it : as Alexander killed his 
friend Cleitus, being in his ales and his caps ; 
so also Harry Monmouth, being in his right 
wits and his good judgments, turned away tlie 
fat knight with the great belly-doublet : he 
was full of jests, and gijies, and knaveries, and 
mocks ; I have forgot his name. 

Gow. Sir John Falstaff. 

Flu. That is he: I'll tell you there is good 
men porn at Monmouth. 

Goio. Here conies his majesty. 

Alarum. Enter King Henky, and forces, 
Warwick, Gloucester, Exeter, andjathers. 

K. Hen. I was not angry since I came tr 
France 
Until this instant. Take a trumpet, herald ; 
Ride thou unto the horsemen on j'on hill : CO 
If they will fight with us, bid them come down. 
Or void the field ; they do offend our sight : 
If they'll do neither, we will come to them, 
And malis them skirr awaj', as swift as stones 
Enforced from the old Assyrian slings : 
Besides, we'll cut the throats of those we have, 
And not a man of them that we shall talce 
Shall taste our mercy. Go and tell them so. 

Enter Montjoy. 
Exe. Here comes the herald of tlie French, 

my liege. 
Glo. His eyes are humbler than they used 
to be. 70 

K. Hen. How now ! what means this, 
herald ? know'st thou not 
That I have fined these bones of mine for ran- 
som ? 
Comest thou again for ransom ? 

Mont. No, great king ; 

I come to thee for charitable license, 
That we may wander o'er this bloody field 
To look our dead, and then to bury them ; 
To sort our nobles from our common men. 
For many of our princes — woe the while ! — 
Liedrown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood ; 
So do our vulgar drench their pea.saiit limbs 80 
In blood of princes ; and their wounded steeds 
Fret fetlock deep in gore and with wild rage 
Yerk out their armed heels at their dead mas- 
ters. 
Killing them twice, 0, give us leave, grfcat 
king, 



Scene tiii.J 



KING HENRY V. 



473 



To view the field in safety and dispose 
Of their dead bodies ! 

K. Hen. I tell thee truly, herald, 

I know not if the day be ours or no ; 
For yet a many of your horsemen peer 
And galloi) o'er the field. 

Mont. The day is yours. 

K. Hen. Praised be God, and not our 

strengtli, for it ! 90 

What is this castle call'd that stands hard by ? 

Mont. They call it Agincourt. 

K. Hen. Then call we this the field of 
Agincourt, 
Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus. 

Flu. Your grandfather of famous memory, 
an't please your majesty, and your great-uncle 
Edward the Plack Prince of Wales, as I have 
read in the chronicles, fought a most prave 
pattle here in France. 

K. Hen. They did, Fluellen. 100 

Flu. Your majesty says very true : if your 
majesties is remembered of it, the Welshmen 
did good service in a garden where leeks did 
grow, wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps ; 
which, your majesty know, to this hour is an 
honorable badge of the service ; and I do be- 
lieve your majesty takes no scorn to wear the 
leek upon Saint Tavy's day. 

K. Hen. I wear it for a memorable honor ; 
For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman. 

Flu. All the water in Wye cannot wash 
your majesty's Welsh jjlood out of your pody, 
I can tell you that : God pless it and preserve 
it, as long as it pleases his grace, and his maj- 
esty too ! 

K. Hen. Thanks, good my countryman. 

Flu. By Jeshu, I am your majesty's coun- 
tryman, I care not who know it ; I will con- 
fess it to all the 'orld : I need not to be ashamed 
of your majesty, praised be God, so long as 
your majesty is an honest man. 120 

K. Hen. God keep me so ! Our heralds go 

with him : 

Bring me just notice of the numbers dead 

On both our parts. Call yonder fellow hither. 

[Points to Williams. Exeunt Heralds 

with Montjoy. 

Exe. Soldier, you must come to the king. 

K. Hen. Soldier, why wearest thou that 
glove in thy cap ? 

\Vill. An't please your majesty, 'tis the 
gage of one that I should fight withal, if he be 
alive. 

K.Hoi. An Englishman ? 129 

Will. An't please your majesty, a rascal 
that swaggered with me last night ; who, if 
alive and ever dare to challenge this glove, I 
have sworn to take him a box o' th' ear : or if 
I can see my glove in his cap, which he swore, 
as he was a soldier, he would wear if alive, I 
"Vill strike it out soundly. 

K. Hen. What think you, Captain Fluellen '.' 
is it fit this soldier keep his oath ? 

Flu. He is a craven and a villain else, an't 
please your majesty, in my conscience. 14(1 

E^. Hen, It may be his enemy is a gentleman 



of great sort, quite from the answer of his 
degree. 

Flu. Though he be as good a gentleman as 
the devil is, as Lucifer and Belzebub himself, 
it is necessary, look your grace, that he keep 
his vow and his oath : if he be perjured, see 
you now, his reputation is as arrant a villain 
and a Jacksauce, as ever his black shoe trod 
upon God's ground and his earth, in my con- 
science, la ! 150 

K. Hen. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, wlieu 
thou meetest the fellow. 

Will. So I will, my liege, as I live. 

K. Hen. Who servest thou under ? 

Will. Under Captain Gower, my liege. 

Flu. Gower is a good captain, and is good 
Icnowledge and literatured in the wars. 

K. Hen. Call him hither to me, soldier. 

Will. I will, my liege. [Exit. 

K. Hen. Here, Fluellen ; wear thou this 
favor for me and stick it in thy cap : when 
Alenoon and myself were down toiiether, I 
plucked this glove from liis liehii : il any man 
challenge this, he is a friend to Alenvoii, and 
an enemy to our person ; if thou encounter 
any such, apprehend him, an thou dost me 
love. 

Flu. Your grace doo's me as great honors 
as can be desired in the hearts of his subjects: 
I would fain see the man, that has but two 
legs, that sliall find himself aggriefcd at this 
glove ; that is all ; but I would fain see it 
once, an please God of his grace that I might 
see. 

K. Hen. Knowest thou Gower ? 

Flu. He is my dear friend, an please you. 

K. Hen. Pray thee, go seek him, and bring 
him to my tent. 

Flu. I will fetch him. [Exit. 

K. Hen. My Lord of Warwick, and my 
brother Gloucester. 
Follow Fluellen closely at the heels : 
The glove which I have given him for a favor 
May haply purchase him a box o' th' ear ; 181 
It is the soldier's ; I by bargain should 
Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin War- 
wick : 
If that the soldier strike him, as I judge 
By his blunt bearing he will keep his w^ord, 
Some sudden mischief may arise of it ; 
For I do know Fluellen valiant 
And, touched with choler, hot as gunpowder, 
And quickly will return an injury : 
Follow, and see there be no harm between 
them. 190 

Go you with me, uncle of Exeter. [Exeunt. 

Scene VIII. Before Kinc, Hexky's pavilion. 
Enter Gower and Willi.\ms. 
Will. I warrant it is to knight you, captain. 

Enter Fluellex. 
Flu. God's will and his pleasure, captain, 
I beseech j-ou now, come apace to the king : 
there is more good toward you jieradveuture 
than is jn your knowledge to dream of. 



474 



KING HENRY V. 



lACT IT. 



WiU. Sir, know you this glove ? 

Flu. Know the glove ! I know the glove is 
a glove. 

Will. I know this ; and thus I challenge it. 
l^Strikes him. 

Flu. 'Sblood ! an arrant traitor as any is 
In the universal world, or in France, or in 
England ! 11 

Gow. How now, sir ! you villain ! 

Will. Do you think I'll be forsworn ? 

Flu. Stand away, Captain Gower ; I will 
give treason his payment into plows, I warrant 
you. 

Will. I am no traitor. 

Flu. Tliat's a lie in thy throat. I charge 
you in his majesty's name, apprehend him : 
he's a friend of the Duke Alen^ou's. 19 

Enter Warwick and Gloucester. 

War. How now, how now ! what's the 
matter ? 

Flu. My Lord of Warwick, here is — praised 
be God for it ! — a most contagious treason 
come to light, look you,' as you shall desire in 
a summer's day. Here is his majesty. 

Enter King Henry and Exeter. 

K. Hen. How now ! what's the matter ? 

Flu. My liege, here is a villain and a traitor, 
that, look your grace, has struck the glove 
which your majesty is take out of the helmet 
of AleuQon. 

Will. My liege, this was my glove ; here is 
the fellow of it ; and lie that I gave it to in 
change promised to wear it in his cap ; I prom- 
ised to strike him, if he did : I met this man 
with my glove in his cap, and I have been as 
good as my word. 

Flu. Your majesty hear now, saving your 
majesty's manhood, what an arrant, rascally, 
beggarly, lousy knave it is : I hope your maj- 
esty is pear me testimony and witness, and 
will avouciiment, that this is the glove of 
Alen^on, that your majesty is give me ; in 
your conscience, now ? 40 

K. Hen. Give me thy glove, soldier : look, 
here is the fellow of it. 
'Twas I, indeed, thou promised' st to strike ; 
And thou hast given me most bitter terms. 

Flu. An please your majesty, let his neck 
answer for it, if there is any martial law in the 
world. 

K. Hen. How canst thou make me satisfac- 
tion ? 

Will. All offences, my lord, come from the 
heart : never came any from mine that might 
offend your majesty. 51 

K. lien. It was ourself thou didst abuse. 

Will. Your majesty came not like yourself: 
you appeared to me but as a common man ; 
witness the night, your garments, your low- 
liness ; and what your highness suffered under 
that shape, I beseech you take it for your own 
fault and not mine : for had you been as I 
took you for, I made no offence ; therefore, I 
beseech your highness, pardon me. 60 



K. Hen. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glovi 
with crowns, 
And give it to this fellow. Keep it, fellow ; 
And wear it for an honor in thy cap 
Till I do challenge it. Give him the crowns: 
And, captain, you must needs be friends with 
him. 

Flu. By this day and this light, the fellow 
has mettle enough in liis belly. Hold, there 
is twelve pence for you ; and I pray you to 
serve Got, and keep yon out of prawls, and pral> 
bles, and quarrels, and dissensions, and, I war- 
rant you, it is the better for you. 71 

Will. I will none of your money. 

Flu. It is with a good will ; I can tell you, 
it will serve you to mend your shoes : come, 
wherefore should you be so pashful ? your 
shoes is not so good : 'tis a good silling, I war- 
rant you, or I will change it. 

Enter an English Herald. 

K. Hen. Now, herald, are the dead num- 

ber'd ? 
Her. Here is the number of the slaughter'd 

French. 
E. Hen. What prisoners of good sort are 
taken, uncle ? 80 

Exe. Charles Duke of Orleans, nephew to 
the king ; 
John Duke of Bourbon, and Lord Bouciqualt: 
Of other lords and barons, knights and squires, 
Full fifteen hundred, besides common men. 
K. Hen. This note doth tell me of ten thou- 
sand French 
That in the field lie slain: of princes, in thia 

number. 
And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead 
One hundred twenty six: added to these. 
Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen,89 
Eight thousand and four hundred ; of the 

which. 
Five liundred were but yesterday dubb'd 

kniglits : 
So that, in these ten thousand they have lost. 
There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries ; 
The rest are princes, barons, lords, knights, 

squires, 
And gentlemen of blood and quality. 
The names of those their nobles that lie dead: 
Charles Delabreth, liigh constable of France; 
Jacques of Chatillon, admiral of France ; 
The master of the cross-bows, Lord Rambures; 
Great Master of France, the brave Sir Guichard 
Dolphin, 100 

John Duke of Alengon, Anthony Duke of Bra- 
bant, 
The brother of the Duke of Burgundy, 
And Edward Duke of Bar : of lusty earls, 
Grandpre and Roussi, Fauconberg and Foix, 
Beaumont and Marie, Vaudemont and Lestrale. 
Here was a royal fellowi*hip of death ! 
Where is the number of our English dead ? 

[Herald sheios him another paper. 
Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk, 
Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire : 
Nope else of uaroe ; and of ail other wen HO 



SOKHB !•] 



RING HENRY F. 



475 



Bat five and twenty. God, thy arm was 

here ; 
And not to us, but to thy ann alone, 
Ascribe we all I When, without stratagem, 
But in plain shock and even play of battle, 
Was ever known so great and little loss 
On one pait and on the other ? Take it, God, 
For it is none but thine ! 
JExe. 'Tis wonderful I 

K. Hen. Come, go we in procession to the 
village : 
And be it death proclaimed through our host 
To boast of this or take the praise from God 1'jO 
Which is his only. 
Flu. Is it not lawful, an please your maj- 
esty, to tell how many is killed ? 
K. Hen. Yes, captain ; but with this ac- 
knowledgment. 
That God fought for us. 
Flu. Yes, my conscience, he did us great 

good. 
K. Hen. Do we all holy rites ; 
Let there be sung ' Non nobis ' and ' Te Deum ; ' 
The dead with charity enclosed in clay : 
And then to Calais ; and to England then : 130 
Where ne'er from France arrived more happy 
men. lExetiiit. 



ACTV. 

PROLOGUE. 

Enter Chorus. 

Chor. Vouchsafe to those that have not 
read the story. 
That I may prompt them : and of such as have, 
I humbly pray them to admit the excuse 
Of time, of uuinbers and due course of things. 
Which canuut in their huge and proper life 
&3 here presented. Now we bear the king 
Toward Calais : grant him there ; there seen, 
Heave him away upon your winged thouglits 
Athwart the sea. Behold, the English beach 
Pales in the flood with men, with wives and 
boys, 10 

Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep- 
mouth' d sea, 
Which like a mighty whiffler 'fore the king 
Seems to prepare his way: so let him laud. 
And solemnly see him set on to London. 
So swift a pace hath thought that even now 
You may imagine him upon Blackheath ; 
Where that his lords desire him to have borne 
His bruised helmet and his bended sword 
Before him through the city: he forbids it, 19 
Being free from vainness and self-glorious 

pride ; 
Giving full trophy, signal and ostent 
Quite from himself to God. But now behold, 
In the quick forge and working-house of 

thought. 
How London doth pour out her citizens ! 
The mayor and all his brethreo iu best sort, 



Like to the senators of the antique Rome, 
With the plebeians swarming at their heels. 
Go forth and fetch their conquering Ciesar in: 
As, by a lower but loving likelihood, 2!) 

Were now the general of our gracious empress, 
As in good time he may, from Ireland coming. 
Bringing rebellion broached on his sword. 
How many would the peaceful city quit. 
To welcome him ! much more, and much more 

cause, 
Did they this Harry. Now in London place 

him ; 
As yet the lamentation of the French 
Invites the King of England's stay at home ; 
The emperor's coming iu behalf of France, 
To order peace between them ; and omit 
All the occurrences, whatever chanced, 40 
Till Harry's back-return again to France : 
There must we bring him ; and myself have 

play'd 
The interim, by remembering you 'tis past. 
Then brook abridgment, and your eyes ad- 
vance. 
After your thoughts, straight back again to 
France. [Exit. 

Scene I. France. The English camp. 
Enter Fluellen and Gower. 

Goio. Nay, that's right ; but why wear you 
your leek to-day ? Saint Davy's day is past. 

Fhi. There is occasions and causes why and 
wherefore in all things : I will tell you, asse 
my friend. Captain Gower : the rascally, scald, 
beggarly, lousy, pragging knave, Pistol, which 
you and yourself and all the world know to bo 
iio petter than a fellow, look you now, of no 
merits, he is come to me and prings me pread 
and salt yesterday, look you, and bid me cat 
my leek : it was in a place where 1 could not 
breed no contention with him ; but I will be 
so bold as to wear it in my cap till I see him 
once again, and then I will tell him a little 
piece of my desires. 

Enter Pistol. 

Gow. Why, here he comes, swelling like a 
turkey-cock. 

Flu. 'Tis no matter for his swellings nor 
his turkey-cocks. God pless you, Aunchient 
Pistol ! you scurvy, lousy knave, God pless 
you ! 

Pist. Ha ! art thou bedlam ? dost thou 
thirst, base Tr<ijan, 20 

To have me fold up Parca's fatal web ? 
Hence ! I am qualmish at the smell of leek. 

Flu. I peseech you heartily, scurvy, lousy 
knave, at my desires, and my requests, and my 
petitions, to eat, look you, this leek : because, 
look you, vou do not love it, nor your affec- 
tions and your appetites and your disgestions 
doo's not agree with it, I would desire you to 
eat it. 

Pist. Not for Cadwallader and all his goats. 

Flu. There is one goat for you. 30 

[Strikes h:m.] 

Will you be so good, gc^uld kuave, as eat it ? 



476 



KING HENRY V. 



lAcxr. 



Pist. Base Troj.an, thou shalt die. 

Flu. You say very true, scauld knave,when 
God's will is : I will desire you to live in the 
mean time, and eat your victuals : come, there 
is sauce for it. [Strikes him. ] You called me 
yesterday mountain-squire ; but I wiU make 
you to-day a squire of low degree. I pray you, 
fall to : if you can mocli a leek, you can eat a 
leek. [him. 41 

Gow. Enough, captain : you have astonished 

Flu. I say, I will make him eat some part 
of my leek, or I will peat his pate four days. 
Bite, I pray you ; it is good for your green 
wound and your ploody coxcomb. 

Pist. Must I bite ? 

Flu^ Yes, certainly, and out of doubt and 
out of question too, and ambiguities. 

Pist. By this leek, I will most horribly re- 
venge : I eat and eat, I swear — 50 

Flu. Eat, I pray you : will you have some 
more sauce to your leek ? there is not enough 
leek to swear by. 

Pist, Quiet thy cudgel ; thou dost see I eat. 

Flu. Much good do you, ecauld knave, 
heartily. Nay, pray you, throw none away; 
the skin is good for your broken coxcomb. 
When you take occasions to see leeks hereafter, 
I pray you, mock at 'em ; that is alL 

Pist. Good. 60 

Flu. Ay, leeks is good : hold you, there is 
A groat to heal your pate. 

Pist, Me a groat ! 

Flu. Yes, verily and in truth, you shall 
take it ; or I have another leek in my pocket, 
which you shall eat. 

Pist . I take thy groat in earnest of revenge. 

Flu. If I owe you any thing, I will pay you 
in cudgels : you shall be a woodmonger, and 
buy nothing of me but cudgels. God b' wi' 
you, and keep you, and heal your pate. 71 

[Exit. 

Pist. All hell shall stir for this. 

Gow, Go, go ; you are a counterfeit cowardly 
knave. Will you mock at an ancient tradition, 
begun upon an honorable respect, and worn as 
a memorable trophy of predeceased valor and 
dare not avouch in your deeds any of your 
words ? I have seen you gleekiug and galling 
at this gentleman twice or thrice. You thought, 
because he could not speak English in the native 
garb, he could not therefore handle an English 
cudgel : you find it otherwise ; and henceforth 
let a Welsh correction teach you a good Eng- 
lish condition. Fare ye well. [Exit. 

Pist. Doth Fortune play the huswife with 
me now ? 
News have I, that my Nell is dead i' the spital 
Of malady of France ; 
And there my rendezvous is quite cut off. 
Old I do wax ; and from my weary limbs 
Honor is cudgelled. Well, bawd I'll turn, 90 
And soinetliing lean to cutpurse of quick hand. 
To England will I steal, and there I'll steal : 
And patches wiU 1 get unto these cudgell'd 

scars, 
And swear I sot them in the GaUia wars. lExit. 



Scene IL France. A royal palace, 

Enter, at one door, King Henry, Exeter, 
Bedford, Gloucester, Warwick, West- 
moreland, and other Lords ; at another, the 
French King, Queen Isabel, the Princess 
Katharine, Alice and other Ladies ; the 
Duke of Burgundy, and his train. 

K, Hen. Peace to this meeting, wherefore 
we are met ! 
Unto our brother France, and to our sister, 
Health and fair time of day; joy and good 

wishes 
To our most fair and princely cousin Katharine ; 
And, as a branch and member of this royalty, 
By whom this great assembly is contrived, 
We do salute you, Duke of Burgundy; 
And, princes French, and peers, health to you 
all ! 
Fr, King. Right joyous are we to behold 
your face, 
Most worthy brother England ; fairly met: 10 
So are you, princes English, every one. 
Q. Isa. So happy be the issue, brother Eng- 
land, 
Of this good day and of this gracious meeting. 
As we are now glad to behold your eyes ; 
Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them 
Against the French, that met them in their 

bent, 
The fatal balls of murdering basilisks : 
The venom of such looks, we fairly hope. 
Have lost their quality, and that this day 
Shall change all griefs and quarrels into love. 
K, Hen. To cry amen to tliat, thus we ap- 
pear. 21 
Q. Isa. You English princes all, I do salute 

you. 
Bur. My duty to you both, on equal love. 
Great Kings of France and England I That I 

have labor' d. 
With all my wits, my pains and strong en« 

deavors. 
To bring your most imperial majesties 
Unto this bar and royal interview, 
Your mightiness on botli parts best can wit- 
ness. 
Since then my office hath so far prevail'd 
That, face to face and royal eye to eye, 30 
You have congreeted, let it not disgi-ace me, 
If I demand, before this royal view, 
What rub or wliat impediment tliere is. 
Why that the naked, poor and mangled 

Peace, 
Dear nurse of arts, plenties and joyful births. 
Should not in this best garden of the world 
Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage ? 
Alas, she hath from France too long been 

chased. 
And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps. 
Corrupting in its own fertility. M 

Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart, 
Unpruned dies ; her hedges even-pleach'd, 
Like prisoners wildly overgrown with hair, 
Put forth disorder' d twigs ; her fallow leas 
The darnel, hemlock and rauk fumitory 



Scene ii. 



KINO HENRY V. 



4V 



Doth root upon, while that the coulter rusts 

That should deracinate such savajjery; 

The even mead, that erst brought sweetly 

forth 
The freckled cowslip, burnet and green clo- 
ver, 
Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, 50 
Conceives by idleness and nothing teems 
But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, 

burs, 
Losing both beauty and utility. 
And as our vineyards, fallows, meads ana 

hedges, 
Defective in their natures, grow to wildness, 
Even so our houses and ourselves and chil- 
dren 
Have lost, or do not learn for want of time, 
The sciences that should become our country; 
But grow like savages, — as soldiers will 
That nothing do but meditate on blood, — ■ 60 
To swearing and stern looks, diffused attire 
And every thing that seems unnatural. 
Which to reduce into our former favor 
You are assembled : and my speech entreats 
That I may know the let, why gentle Peace 
Should not expel these inconveniences 
And bless us with her former qualities. 
K. Hen. If, Duke of Burgundy, you would 
the peace, 
Wliose want gives growth to the imperfec- 
tions 
Which you have cited, you must buy that 
peace 70 

With full accord to all our just demands ; 
Whose tenors and particular effects 
You have enscheduled briefly in your hands. 
Bur. The king hath heard them ; to the 
which as yet 
There is no answer made. 

K. Hen. Well then the peace. 

Which you before so urged, lies in his an- 
swer. 
Fr. Kinc). I have but with a cursorary eye 
O'erglanced the articles : pleaseth your grace 
To appoint some of your council presently 
To sit with us once more, with better heed 80 
To re-survey them, we will suddenly 
Pass our accept and peremptory answer, 
jr. Hen. Brother, we shall. Go, uncle Ex- 
eter, 
And brother Clarence, and you, brother Glou- 
cester, 
Warwick and Huntingdon, go with the king ; 
And take with you free power to ratify. 
Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best 
Shall see advantageable for our diguity, 
Any thing in or out of our demands, 
And we'll consign thereto. Will you, fair sis- 
ter, 90 
Go with the princes, or stay here with us ? 
Q. Isa. Our gracious brother, I will go with 
them : 
Haply a woman's voice may do some good. 
When articles too nicely urged be stood on. 
^. Hen. Yet leave our cousin Katharine 
bere with lu : 



Sh'.; is our capital demand, comprised 
Within the fore-rank of our articles. 

Q. Isa. She hath good leave. 

\_Exeunt all except He-'vy, Ratharinv_ 
and Alice. 

K. Hen. Fair Katharine and most fair, 

Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms 
Such as will enter at a lady's ear 100 

And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart ? 

Kath. Your majesty shall mock at me ; I 
cannot speak your England. 

K. Hen. fair Katharine, if you will love 
me soundly with your French heart, I will be 
glad to hear you confess it brokenly with your 
English tongue. Do you like me, Kate ? 

Kath. Pardonnez-moi, I cannot tell vat is 
' like me.' 

K. Hen. An angel is like you, Kate, and 
you are like an angel. Ill 

Kath. Que dit-il ? que je suis semblable k 
les anges ? 

Alice. Qui, vraiment, sauf votre grace, 
ainsi dit-il. 

K. Hen. I said so, dear Katharine ; and I 
must not blush to affirm it. 

Kath. O bouDieu ! les laugues des hommes 
sont pleines de tromperies. 

K. Hen. What says she, fair one ? that the 
tongues of men are full of deceits ? 121 

Alice. Oui, dat de tongues of de mans is be 
full of deceits : dat is de princess. 

K. Hen. The princess is the better English- 
woman, r faith, Kate, my wooing is fit for 
thy understanding : I am glad thou canst 
speak no better English ; for, if thou couldst, 
thou wouldst find me such a plain king that 
thou wouldst think I had sold my farm to 
buy my crown. I know no ways to mince it 
in love, but directly to say ' I love you : ' then 
if you urge me farther than to say ' do you in 
faith ? ' I wear out my suit. Give me your 
answer ; i' faith, do : and so clap hands and 
a bargain : how say you, lady ? 

Kath. Sauf votre honneur, me understand 
veil. 

K. Hen. Marry, if you would put me to 
verses or to dance for your sake, Kate, why 
you undid me : for the one, I have neither 
words nor measure, and for the other, I have 
no strength in measure, yet a reasonable 
measure in strength. If I could win a lady at 
leap-frog, or by vaulting into my saddle with 
my armor on my back, uuder the correction 
of bragging be it spoken, I should quickly 
leap into a wife. Or if I might buffet for my 
love, or bound my horse for her favors, I 
could lay on like a butcher and sit like a jack- 
an-apes, never off. ' But, before God, Kate, I 
cannot look greenly nor gasp out my elo- 
quence, nor I have no cunning in protesta- 
tion ; only downright oaths, which I never 
use till urged, nor never break for urging. If 
thon canst love a fellow of this temper, Kate, 
whose face is not worth sum-burniuji:, that 
never looks in his glass for love erf any thing 
he sees there, let thine eye he thy coek { 



4t8 



KING SUNRY V. 



tAct V. 



speak to thee plain soldier : if thou canst love 
me for this, take me ; if not, to say to thee 
that I shall die, is true ; but for thy love, by 
the Lord, no ; yet I love thee too. And while 
thou livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain 
and uncoined constancj^ ; for he perforce 
must do thee right, because he hath not the 
gift to woo in other places : for these fellows 
of infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves 
uito ladies' favors, they do alwaj's reason 
themselves out again. What ! a speaker is 
but a prater ; a rhyme is but a ballad. A 
good leg will fall ; a straight back will stoop ; 
a black beard will turn white ; a curled pate 
will grow bald ; a fair face will wither ; a full 
eye will wa.K hollow : but a good heart, Kate, 
is the sun and the moon ; or rather tlie sun 
and not the moon ; for it shines bright and 
never changes, but keeps his course trul}^ 
If thou would have such a one, take me ; and 
take me, take a soldier ; take a soldier, take a 
king. And what sayest thou then to my love ? 
speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee. 

Kath. Is it possible dat I sould love de 
enemy of France ? 179 

K. Hen. No ; it is not possible you should 
love the enemy of France, Kate : but, in lov- 
ing me, you should love the friend of France; 
for I love France so well that I will not part 
with a village of it ; I will have it all mine : 
and, Kate, when France is mine and I am 
yours, then yours is France and you are mine. 

Kath. I cannot tell vat is dat. 

K. Hen. No, Kate ? I will tell thee in 
French ; which I am sure will hang upon my 
tongue like a new-married wife about her hus- 
band's neck, hardly to be shook off. Je quand 
sur le possession de France, et quand vous 
avez le possession de moi, — let me see, what 
then ? Saint Denis be my speed ! — done votre 
est France et vous etes mienne. It is as easy 
for me, Kate, to conquer the kingdom as to 
speak so much more French : I shall never 
move thee in French, unless it be to laugh at 
me. 

Kath. Sauf votre honneur, le Francois que 
vous parlez, il est meilleur que I'Anglois le- 
quel je parle. 301 

K. Hen. No, faith, is't not, Kate : but thy 
speaking of my tongue, and I thine, most 
truly-falsely, must needs be granted to be 
much at one. But, Kate, dost thou under- 
stand thus much English, canst thou love me ? 

Kath. I cannot tell. 

K. Hen. Can any of your neighbors tell, 
Kate ? I'll ask them. Come, I know thou 
lovest me : and at night, when you come into 
your closet, you'll question this gentlewoman 
about me ; and I know, Kate, you will to her 
dispraise those parts in me that you love with 
your i\eart : but, good Kate, mock me merci- 
fully ; the rather, gentle princess, because I 
love thee cruelly. If ever thou beest mine, 
Kate, as I have a saving faith within me tells 
me thou shalt, I get thee with scambling, and 
thou must therefore needs prove a good sol- 



dier-breeder : shall not thou and I, between 
Saint Denis and Saint George, compound a 
boy, half French, half English, that shall go 
to Constantinople and take the Turk by the 
beard ? shall we not ? what sayest thou, my 
fair flower-de-luce ? 

Kath. I do not know dat. 

if. Hen. No ; 'tis hereafter to know, but 
now to ])romise : do but novv promise, Kate, 
you will endeavor for youT French part of 
such a boy ; and for my English moiety take 
the word of a king and a bachelor. How an- 
swer you, la plus belle Katharine du moude, 
mon trt;3 cher et deviu deesse ? 

Kath. Your majestee ave fausse French 
enough to deceive de most sage demoiselle dat 
is en France. 

, K. Hen. Now, fie upon ray false French ! 
By mine honor, in true English, I love thee, 
Kate : by which honor I dare not swear thou 
lovest me ; yet my blood begins to flatter me 
that thou dost, notwithstanding the poor and 
untempering effect of my visage. Now, bb- 
shrew my father's ambition ! he was thinking 
of civil wars when he got me : therefore was 
I created with a stubborn outside, with an 
aspect of iron, that, when I come to woo 
ladies, I fright them. But, in faitli, Kate, the 
elder I wax, the better I shall appear : my 
comfort is, that old age, that ill layer up of 
beauty, can do no more spoil upon my face : 
thou hast me, if thou hast me, at the worst ; 
and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, bet- 
ter and better ; and therefore tell me, most 
fair Katharine, will you have me ? Put off 
your maiden blushes ; avouch the thoughts of 
your heart with the looks of an empress ; t:ike 
Ine by the hand, and say ' Harry of England, 
I am thine : ' which word thou shalt no soon- 
er bless mine ear withal, but I will tell thee 
aloud ' England is thine, Ireland is thine, 
France is thine, and Harry Plantagenet is 
thine ;' who, though I speak it before his 
face, if he be not fellow with the best king, 
thou shalt find the best king of good fellows. 
Come, your answer in broken music ; for thy 
voice is music and thy English broken ; there- 
fore, queen of all, Katharine, break thy mind 
to me in broken English ; wilt thou have me? 

Kath. Dat is as it sail please de roi mou 
pere. 

E. Hen. Nay, it will please him well, Kate ; 
it shall please him, Kate. 

Kath. Den it sail also content me. 370 

K. Hen. Upon that I kiss your hand, and I 
call you my queen. 

Kath. Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, lais- 
sez : ma foi, je ne veux point que vous abaiw- 
siez votre grandeur en baisant la main d' una 
de votre seigneurie indigne serviteur ; ex- 
cusez-moi, je vous supplie, mon tres-puissant 
seigneur. 

K. Hen. Then I will kiss your lips, Kate. 

Kath. Les dames et demoiselles pour etr© 
baisees devantleur noces, U n'estpasla cou« 
tume de France. 381 



6o£Kti it] 



KWG ffJSNRY V. 



m 



K. Hen. Madam my interpreter, what says 
she? 

Alice. Dat it is not be de fashion pour les 
ladies of France, — I cannot tell vat is baiser 
en Anglisli. 

K. Hen. To kiss. 

Alice. Your majesty entendre bettre que 
moi. 

K. Hen. It is not a fashion for tlie maids in 
France to kiss before iliey are married, would 
she say ? 

Alice. Oui, vraiment. 

K. Hen. O Kate, nice customs curtsy to 
great kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot be 
confined within the weak list of a country's 
fashion : we are the makers of manners, Kate; 
and. the liberty that follows our places stops 
the mouth of all find-faults ; as I will do yours, 
for upholding the nice fashion of your country 
in denying me a kiss : therefore, patiently ana 
yielding. [Kissing her.] Yuu liave witch- 
craft in your lips, Kate : there is more elo- 
quence in a sugar touch of them than in tlie 
tongues of the French council ; and they should 
sooner persuade Harry of England than a gen- 
eral petition of mouarchs. Here comes your 
fatlier. 

Re-enter the French King and his Queen, 
BuKGUNDY, and other Lords. 

Bur. God save your majesty ! my royal 
cousin, teach you our i>rincess English ? 

K. Hen. 1 would have her learn, my fair 
cousin, how perfectly I love her ; and that is 
good English. 

Bur. Is she not apt ? 

K. Hen. Our tongue is rough, coz, and my 
condition is not smooth ; so that, having neither 
the voice nor the heart of fiattery about me, 
I cannot so conjure up the spirit of love in her, 
that he will appear in liis true likeness. 

Bur. Pardon the frankness of my mirth, if 
I answer you for that. If you would conjure 
in her, you must make a circle ; if conjure up 
love in her in his true likeness, he must ap- 
pear naked and blind. Can you blame her 
then, being a maid yet rosed over with the 
virgin crimson of modesty, if she deny the ap- 
pearance of a naked blind boy in her naked 
seeing self ? It were, my lord, a hard condi- 
tion for a maid to consign to. 

K. Hen. Yet they do wink and yield, as 
love is blind and enforces. 

Bur. Tliey aVe then excused, my lord, when 
they see not what they do. 430 

K. Hen. Then, good my lord, teach your 
cousin to consent winking. 

Bur. I will wink on her to consent, my 
lord, if you will teach her to know my mean- 
ing : for maids, well summered and warm kept, 
are like flies at Bartholomew-tide, blind, 
tliough they have their eyes ; and then they 
will endure handling, which before would not 
abide looking on. 

jr. Hen. This moral ties me over to time 
•nd a hot summer ; and so I shall catch the 



fly, your cousin, in the latter end and she must 
be blind too. 
Bur. As love is, my lord, before it loves. 
K. Hen. It is so : and you may, some of 
you, thank love for my blindness, who cannot 
see many a fair French city for one fair French 
maid that stands in my way. 

Fr. King. Yes, my lord, you see them per- 
spectively, the cities turned into a maid ; for 
they are all girdled with maiden walls that war 
hath never entered. 450 

K. Hen. Shall Kate be my wife ? 
Fr. King. So please you. 
A'. Hen. I am content ; so the maiden cities 
you talk of may wait on her : so the maid that 
stood in the way for my wish shall show me 
the way to my will. 

Fr. King. We have consented to all terms 
of reason. 
K. Hen. Is't so, my lords of England ? 
West. The king hath granted every article: 
His daughter first, and then in sequel all, 461 
According to their firm proposed natures. 

Exe. Only he hath not yet subscribed this : 
Where your majesty demands, that the King 
of France, having any occasion to write for 
matter of grant, shall name your highness in 
this form and with this addition in French, 
Notre trescher fils Henri, Roi d'Angleterrc, 
Heritierde France; and thus in Latin, Pricclar- 
issiuuis filius noster Ilenricus, Kex Anglia', et 
Ha'res Franci;e. 
Fr. King. Nor this I have not, brother, so 
denied. 
But your request shall make me let it pass. 
K. Hen. 1 pray you then, in love and dear 
alliance. 
Let that one article rank with tlie rest ; 
And thereupon give me your daughter. 
Fr. King. Take her, fair son, and from her 
blood raise up 
Issue to me ; that the contending kingdoms 
Of France and England, whose very shores 

look pale 
With envy of each other's happiness. 
May cease their hatred, and this dear conjunc- 
tion 480 
Plant neighborhood and Christian-like accord 
In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance 
His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair 
France. 
All. Amen ! 

K. Hen. Now, welcome, Kate : and bear 
me witness all, 
That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen. 

[Flourish. 
Q. Isa. God, the best maker of all mar- 
riages. 
Combine your hearts in one, your realms in 

one ! 
As man and wife, being two, are one in love, 
So be there 'twixt your kingdoms such a 

spousal. 
That never may ill office, or fell jealousy, 
Which troubles oft the bed of blessed mar- 
ridge. 



480 



KmC SENRY V. 



[Act y. 



Thrust in between the paction of these king- 
doms, 

To make divorce of their incorjjorate league ; 

That English may as French, French English- 
men, 

Receive each other. God speak this Amen ! 
All. Amen ! 

K. Hen. Prepare we for our marriage — on 
which day, 

My Lord of Burgundy, we'll take your oath, 

And all the peers' , for surety of our leagues. 500 

Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me ; 

And may our oaths well kept and prosperous 
be ! [Sennet. Exeunt. 



EPILOGUE. 

Enter Chorus. 

Ghor. Thus iaj, with rough and all-unable 
p«n, 



Our bending author hath pursued the story, 
In little room confining mighty men, 
Mangling by starts the full course of their 
glory. 
Small time, but in that small most greatly 
lived 
This star of England ; Fortune made his 
sword ; 
By which the world's best garden he achieved, 

And of it left his son imperial lord. 
Henry tlie Sixth, in infant bands crown'd King 
Of France and England, did this king suc- 
ceed ; 10 
Whose state so many had the managing. 
That they lost France and made his England 
bleed : 
Which oft our stage hath shown ; and, for 

their sake, 
In your fair minds let this acceptance take. 

[Exit. 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 

(written about 1597.) 



INTRODUCTION. 

Tliis comedy first appeared in the folio of 1623, but it is in some way closely connected with a play 
published in ISiM, and bearing tlie almost identical title, The Taming of A Shrew. Pope was of 
the opinion that Shakespeare wrote both plays, but this is hardly plausible. The play in the folio is 
certaiidy an enlargement and alteration of the earlier play, and it only remains to ask, was Shake- 
speare the sole reviser and adapter, or did his task consist of adding and altering certain scenes, so 
as to render yet more amusing and successful an enlarged version of the play of 1594, already made 
by some unknown hand ■;' The last seems upon the whole the opinion best supported by the inter- 
nal evidence. In Tlw Taming of the Shrew three parts may be distinguished : (1) The humorous 
Induction, in which Sly, the drunken tinker, is the cliief person ; (2) A comedy of character, the 
Shrew and her tamer, Pelruchio, being the hero and heroine ; (3) A comedy of intrigue— the story of 
Bianca and hei rival lovers. Now the old play of A Shrew contains, in a rude form, the scenes of 
the Induction !ind the chief scenes in which Petruchio and Katharina (named by the original writer 
Ferando and Ivate) appear ; but nothing in the old play corresponds with the intrigues of Bianca's 
disguised lovers. It is, however, in the scenes concerned with these intrigues that Shakespeare's 
hand is least apparent. It may be said that Shakespeare's genius goes in and out with the person of 
Katharina. We would therefore conjecturally assign the intrigue-comedy to the adapter of the old 
play, reserving for Sliakcsiii-are a title to those scenes — in the main enlarged from the play of A 
Shrew— in which Katharina, Petruchio, and Grumio are speakers. Turning this statement into 
figures we find that Shakespeare's part in The Tamiriq of the Shreiv is comprised in the following 
portions : Induction ; AetII.,Sc.l., L. 1G9-.326 ; Act III.,"Sc. ll., L. 1—125, and 151-211 ; Act IV., Sc. I. II. 
and III.; Act V., Sc. ii., L. 1-180. Such a division, it must be borne in mind, is no more than a con- 
jecture, but it seems to be suggested and fairly indicated by the style of the several parts of tho 
comedy. However this may be, it is clear that Shakespeare cared little for the other charac- 
ters in comparison with Sly, Katharina, and Petruchio. The play is full of energy and bus- 
tling movement ; and the characters of Katharina and Petruchio in particular, are finiily and 
finely drawn, the scenes in which they appear, though infinitely amusing, never quite passing into 
downright farce. Widelv separated dates have been assigned for The Taminr/ of the Shren; from 
1.'504 to IfiOe. The best portions are in the manner of Shakespeare's comedies of the second period ; 
and attributing the Bianca intrigue-comedv to a writer intermediate between the author of the play 
of A Shrew and Shakespeare, there is no difticulty in supposing that the Shakespeare scenes were 
written about 1597. Fletcher wrote a humorous continuation of Shakespeare's play, entitled The 
WoTnan's Prize, or the Tamer Tamed, in which Petruchio reappears. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Christopiter Sly, a tinker. I ^f^^VLno" 
Hostess, Page, Players, Hunts- I ^'^^ tion 

men, aud Servants. J 

B.^PTisTA, a rich gentleman of Padna. 
ViNCENTio, an old gentleman of Pisa. 
LucENTTO, son to Viuceutio, in love with 

Bianca. 
Petruchio, a gentleman of Verona, a suitor 

to Katharina. 

HoRrNsio. [suitors to Bianca. 



Tranio, / servants to Lucentio. 

BlONDELLO, ) 

Grumio, / servants to Petruchio. 
Curtis, J 
A Pedant. 

Katharina, the shrew, ) daughters to Bap- 

BiANCA, ) tista. 

Widow. 

Tailor, Haberdasha, and Servants attending on 

Baptista and Petruchio. 
Scene: Padua, and Petruchio' s country house. 
81 (481) 



482 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



[Induction. 



IlSrDUCTION". 

Scene I. Before an alehouse on a heath. 

Enter Hostess and Sly. 

Sly. I'll pheeze you, iu faith. 
Host. A pair of stocks, j'ou rogue ! 
Sly. Ye are a baggage : the Slys are no 
rogues ; look iu the chronicles ; we cauie in 
with Richard Conqueror. Therefore paucas 
pallabris ; let the world slide : sessa ! 

Host. You will not pay for the glasses you 
have burst ? . 

Sly. JSTo, not a denier. Go by, .Teronimy : 
go to thy cold bed, and warm tliee. 10 

IIo.st. I know my remedy ; I must go fetch 
the third-borough. [E.dl. 

Sly. Third, or fourth, or lifth borough, Til 
answer him by law : Fll not budge an inch, 
boy : let him come, and kindly. [Falls asleep. 
Horns loinded. Enter a Lord from hunting, 
ivith his train. 
Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender 
well my hounds : 
tBrach Merrimau, the poor cur is emboss'd ; 
And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth'd 

brach. 
Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good 
At the hedge-corner, in the coldest fault ? 20 
I would not lose the dog for twenty pound. 
First Hun. Why, Belman is asgood as he, 
my lord ; 
He cried upon it at the merest loss 
And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent : 
Trust me, I take him for the better dog. 
Lord. Thou art a fool : if Echo were as 
fleet, 
I would esteem him worth a dozen such. 
But sup them well and look unto them all : 
To-morrow I intend ti:) hunt again. 
First Hun. I will, my lord. 30 

Lord. What's here ? one dead, or druuk ? 

See, doth he breathe ? 
Sec. Han. He breathes, my lord. Were he 
not warm'd with ale. 
This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly. 
Lord. monstrous beast ! how like a swine 
he lies ! [image ! 

Griui death, how foul and loathsome is thine 
Sirs, I will practice on this drunken man. 
What think you, if he were convey'd to bed, 
Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon liis 

fingers, 
A most delicious banquet by his bed. 
And brave attendants near him when he 
wakes, 40 

Would not the beggar then forget himself ? 
First Han. Believe me, lord, I think he 

cannot choose. 
Sec. Han. It would seem strange unto him 

when he waked. 
Lord. Even as a flattering dream or worth- 
less fancy. 
Then take him up and manage well the 
jest : * .^ 



Carry him gentlj' to my fairest chamber 
And hang it round with all my wanton pic- 
tures : 
Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters 
And burn sweet wood to make the lodging 

sweet : 
Procure me music ready when he wakes, 50 
To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound ; 
And if he chance to speak, be ready straight 
And with a low submissive reverence 
Saj' ' What is it your honor will command ? ' 
Let one attend him with a silver basin' 
Full of rose-water and bestrew'd witli flowers; 
Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper. 
And say ' Will't pleaseyour lordship cool your 

hands ? ' 
Some one be ready with a costly suit 
And aslc him what apparel he will wear ; GO 
Another tell him of his hounds and horse, 
And that his lady mourns at his disease : 
Persuade him that he hath been lunatic ; 
f And wnen he says he is, say that he dreams, 
For he is nothing but a miglity lord. 
This do and do it kindly, gentle sirs : 
It will be jjastime passing excellent. 
If it be husbanded with modesty. 
First Han. My lord, I warrant you we will 
play our part. 
As he shall thiuk by our true diligence 70 
He is no less than what we say he is. 
Lord. Take him up gently and to bed with 
him ; 
And each one to his office when he wakes. 

[Some hear oat Sly. A trumpet sounds. 

Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds : 

[Exit Servimpnan. 

Belike, some noble gentleman that means. 

Travelling some journey, to repose him here. 

Ec-enter Servingman. 
How now ! who is it ? 

.S'ery. An't please your honor, players 

That offer service to your lordship. 
Lord. Bid them come near. 
Enter Players. 
Now, fellows, you are welcome. 
Players. We thanlc your honor. 80 

Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to- 
night ? 
A Player. So i)Iease your lordship to accept 

our duty. 
Lord. With all my heart. This fellow I re- 
member. 
Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son : 
'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so 

well : 
I have forgot your name ; but, sure, that part 
Was aptly fitted and nn,turally perform'd. 
A Player. I think 'twas Soto that your 

honor means. 
Lord. 'Tis very true : thou didst it excel- 
lent. 
Well, you .ire come to me in happy time ; 90 
The ra':her for I have some sport in hand 
'Wlierein your cunning can .assist me much- 
There is a lord will hear you play to-night : 



Scene ii.] 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



483 



But I am doubtful of your modesties ; 
Lest over-eyeiug of his odd behavior, — 
For yet his lioiior never heard a plaj' — 
You break into some merry jiassion 
And so offend him ; for I tell you, sirs, 
If you should smile he grows impatient. 
A Player. Fear not, my lord : we can con- 
tain oui'seh es, 100 
Were lie the veriest antic in the world. 

Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery, 
And give thena friendly welcome every one : 
Let them want nothing that my house affords. 
[Exit one u'ith the Players. 
Sirrah, go you to Barthol'mew my page, 
And sec him dress'd in all suits like a lady : 
That done, conduct \\m\ to the drunkard's 

chamber ; 
And call him ' madam,' do liim obeisance. 
Tell him from me, as he will win my love, 
He bear himself with honoiable action, 110 
Such as he hath observed in noble ladies 
Unto their lords, by them accomplished : 
Such duty to the drunkard let him do 
With soft low tongue and lowly courtesy. 
And say ' What is't your honor will command. 
Wherein your lady and your humble wife 
May show her duty and make known her 
love ? ' [kisses, 

And then witli kind embracements, tempting 
And with declining head into his bosom, 
Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd 120 
To see her noble lord restored to health, 
AVho for this seven years hath esteem'd him 
No Ijetter than a poor and loathsome beggar : 
And if the boy have not a woman's gift 
To rain a shower of comniaiulod tc:ii's, 
An ouioii will do well for such a shift, 
Whi<:h in a napkin being close convey'd 
Shall in despite enforce a watery eye. 
See this dispatch'd with all the haste thou 

canst : 
Anon I'll give thee more instructions. ino 

\_Exit a tScrcimjmuM. 
I know the boy will well usurp the g»"ace. 
Voice, gait and action of a gentlewoman : 
I bug to hear him call the drunkard husband, 
And how my men -will stay theinselve.-s 

from laughter 
When they do homage to this simple peasant. 
I'll in to counsel them ; haply my presence 
ISIay weW ab;ite the over-merry spleen 
Wliich otherwise would grow into extremes. 

[Exeunt. 

ScKxi': H. .1 bedchamber i)i the Lord's house. 

Enter aloft Sly, viith Attendants ; some u-ith 
apparel, others icith basin and eicer and 
other appurtenances; and Lord. 

Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale. 
First Serv. Will't please your lordship 

drink a cuji of sack ? 
Sec. Serv. Will't please your honor taste of 

these conserves ? 
Third Serr. What raiment w ill your honor 

>vear today ? 



Sbj. I am Christopher Sly ; call not mo 
'honor' nor 'lordship:' I ne'er drank sack 
in my life ; and if you give me any conserves, 
give me conserves of beef : ne'er ask me what 
raiment I'll wear ; for I have no more doub- 
lets than backs, no more stockings than legs, 
nor no more shoes than feet ; nay, sometiiues 
more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes 
look through the over-leather. 
Lord. Ileaveu cease this idle humor in your 
honor ! 
0, that a mighty man of such descent, 
Of such possessions and so liigh esteem, 
Should be infused with so foul a spirit ! 

Sly. AVhat, Avould you make me mad ? Am 
not i Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Burton- 
heath, by birth a pedlar, b}' education a card- 
maker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and 
now by present profe.«sion a tinker ? Ask 
Marian Hacket, the fat ale-wife of Wineot, if 
she know me not : if she say I am not fourteen 
pence on the score for sheer ale, score me up 
for the lyingest knave in Christendom. What ! 
I am not bestraught : here's — 

Third Serv. 0, this it is that makes your 

lady mourn ! 
Sec. Scri\ O, this is it that makes your ser- 
vants droop ! 
Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred 
shuus your house, 30 

As beaten hence by your strange lunacy. 
O noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth. 
Call home thy ancient thoughts from banish- 
ment 
And banish hence these abject lowly dreams. 
Look how thy servants do attend on thee, 
Eacli in his office ready at tliy beck. 
Wilt thou have music? hark! Apollo plays 

[j\hisic. 
And twenty ca.'^ed nightingales do sing ; 
t)r wilt thou sleep ? we'll have tliee to a 

couch 
Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed 40 
On purpose tiimm'd up for Semiramis. 
Say thou wilt w^alk ; we will be.'^trew the 

ground : 
Or wilt thou ride ? thy horses shall be trapp'd, 
Their harness studded all with goldiind j carl. 
Dost thou love hawking ? thou hast hawks 

will soar 
Above the morning lark : or wilt thou hunt ? 
Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer 

" them 
And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth. 
First Serr. Say thou wilt course ; tliygrey- 
houmls are as swift 
As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe. 50 
Sec. S'rr. Do? ttliou love pictures ? we will 
fetch tliee sfraiglit 
Adonis painted by a running brook, 
.\nd Cytlierea all in sedges hid. 
Which" seem to move and wanton with her 

. breath. 
Even as the waving sedges play with wind. 
Lord. We'll show thee lo' as sho was a 
maid, 



484 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



[Act I. 



And how she was beguiled and surprised, 
As lively painted as the deed was done. 

Third Serv. Or Daphne roaming through 
a thorny wood, 
Scratching her legs that one shall swear she 
bleeds, 60 

And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep. 
So workmatily the blood and tears are drawn. 
Lo7-d. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a 
lord: 
Thou hast a lady far more beautiful 
Thau any woman in this waning age. 
First Serv. And till the tears that she hath 
shed for thee 
Like envious floods o'er-run her lovely face. 
She was the fairest creature in the world ; 
And yet she is inferior to none. 69 

,Sl>j. Am I a lord ? and have I such a lady? 
Or do I dream ? or have I dream'd till now ? 
I do not sleep : I see, I hear, I speak ; 
I smell sweet savors and I feel soft things : 
Upon my life, I am a lord indeed 
And not a tinker nor Christophero Sly. 
Well, bring our lady hither to our sight ; 
And once again, a pot o' the smallest ale. 
Sec. Serv. Will't please your mightiness to 
wash your hands ? 
O, how we joy to see your wit restored ! 
O, that once more you knew but what you 
are ! 80 

These fifteen years you have been in a dream ; 
Or when you waked, so waked as if you slepti 
Sly. These fifteen years ! by my fay, a 
goodly nap. 
But did I never speak of all that time ? 
First Serv. O, yes, my lord, but very idle 
words : [ber. 

For though you lay here in this goodly cham- 
Yet would you say ye were beaten out of door; 
And rail upon the hostess of the house ; 
And say you would present her at the leet, 
Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd 
quarts : 90 

Sometimes you would call out for Cicely 
Hacket. 
Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house. 
Third Serv. Why, sir, you know no house 
nor no such maid, 
Nor no such men as you have reckon'd up. 
As Steiihen Sly and old John Naps of Greece 
And Peter Turph and Henry Pimpernell 
And twenty more such names and men as 

these 
Which never were nor no man ever saw. 
Sly. Now Lord be thanked for my good 

amends ! 
All. Amen. 100 

Sly. I thank thee : thou shalt not lose by it. 

Enter the Page as a lady, loith attendants. 

Page. How fares my noble lord ? 

Sly. Marry, I fare well ; for here is cheer 

enough. 
Where is my wife ? 
Page. Here, noble lord : what is thy will 

with her ? 



Sly. Are you my wife and will not call me 
husband ? 
My men should call me ' lord : ' I am your 
goodman. 
Page. My husband and my lord, luy loid 
and husband ; 
I am your wife in all obedience. 

Sly. I know it well. What must I call her? 
Lord. Madam. m 

Sly. Al'ce madam, or Joan madam ? 
Lord. ' Madam,' and nothing else : so 

lords call ladies. 
Sly. Madam wife, they say that I have 
dream'd 
And slept above some fifteen year or more. 
Page. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto 
me, 
Being all this time abaudon'd from your bed. 
Sly. 'Tis much. Servants, leave me and 
her alone. 
Madam, undress you and come now to bed. 
Page. Thrice noble lord, let me entreat of 
yon 120 

To pardon me yet for a night or two. 
Or, if not so, until the sun be set : 
For your pjiysicians have expressly charged, 
In peril to incur your former malady. 
That I should yet absent me from your bed: 
I hope this reason stands for my excuse. 

Sly. Ay, it stands so that I may hardly 
tarry so long. But I would be loath to falliuto 
my dreams again : I will therefore tarry in 
despite of the flesh and the blood. 130 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. Your honor's players, hearing your 
amendment. 
Are come to ]jlay a pleasant comedy ; 
For so your doctors hold it very meet, 
Seeing too much sadness hath congeal'd youi 

blood. 
And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy : 
Therefore they thought it good you hear a play 
And friwne your mind to mirth and merriment. 
Which bars a thousand harms and lengthens 
life. 
Sly. Marry, I will, let them play it. Is not 
a comonty a Christmas gam bold or a tumbling- 
trick ? 141 
Page. No, my good lord ; it is more pleas- 
ing stuff. 
Sly. What, household stuff ? 
Page. It is a kind of history. 
Sly. Well, we'll see't. Come, madam wife, 
sit by my side and let the world slip : we shall 
ne'er be younger. 

Flourish. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. Padua. A public place. 
Enter Lucentio and his man Tkanio. 
Luc. Tranio, since for the great desire I 
had 
To see fair Padua, nursery oi arts 



Scene i.| 



THE TAMING Oh THE SHREW. 



485 



I am arrived for fruitful Lonibardy, 
The pleasant garden of great Itiily ; 
And by my father's lo\ e and leave am arm'd 
With his good will and thy good company, 
My trusty servant, well approved in all. 
Here let us breathe and Imply institute 
A course of learning and ingenious studies. 
Pisa renown'd for grave citizens 10 

Gave me my being and ]ny father first, 
A merchant of great traffic tlirough the world, 
Vincentio, come of the Bentivolii. 
Vinceutio's son brought up in Florence 
It shall become to serve all hopes conceived. 
To deck liis fortune with his virtuous deeds : 
And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study. 
Virtue and tluit part of i)hilosophy 
Will 1 a[)ply that treats of happiness 
By virtue specially to be achieved. 20 

Tell me tliy mind ; for I have Pisa left 
And am to Padua come, as he that leaves 
A shallow i)lash to plunge him in the dee]) 
And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst. 
Tru. Mi perdonato, gentle master mine, 
I am in all affected as yourself ; 
(ilad that you thus continue your resolve 
To suck tlie sweets of sweet philosoi)hy. 
Only, good master, while we do admire 
This virtue and this moral discipline, 30 

Let's be no stoics nor no stocks, I pray ; 
Or so devote to Aristotle's checks 
As (_)vid be an outcast quite abjured : 
Balk logic with acquaintance that you have 
And practise rhetoric in your common talk ; 
Music and poesy vise to quicken you ; 
The mathematics and the metaphysics, 
Fall to them as you find your stomach serves 

you ; 
No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en : 
In brief, sir, study what you most affect. 40 
Luc. Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou 

advise. 
If, Biondello, thou wert come ashore. 
We could at once jiut us in readiness, 
And take a lodging fit to entertain 
Such friends as time in Padua shall begot. 
But .stay a while : what company is this ? 
Tni. Master, some show to welcome us to 

town. 

Enter Baptista, Kathakina, Bianca, Gke- 
Mio, and HoRTENSio. Lucentio and 
Tkanio stand by. 

Bap. Gentlemen, importune me no far- 
ther, 
For how 1 firmly am resolved you know ; 
Tluit is, not to bestow my youngest daughter 
Before I have a husband for tlie elder : 51 
If either of you both love Katharina, 
Because I know you well and love you well. 
Leave shall you have to court her at your 
j>leasure. 
Gre. [Aside] To cart her rather : she's 
too rough for me. 
Tliere, there, Hortensio, will you any wife ? 
Kath. I pray you, sir, is it your will 

To make a stale hi me amongst tUes^ mates ? 



Ilor. Mates, maid ! how mean you that ? 
no mates for you. 
Unless you were of gentler, milder mould. 60 
Kath. I'faith, sir, you shall never need to 
fear : 
I wis it is not half way to her heart ; 
But if it were, doubt not her care should be 
To comb your noddle with a three-legg'd stool 
And paint your face and use you like a fool. 
Ilor. From all such devils, good Lord de- 
liver us ! 
Gre. And me too, good Lord ! 
Tra. Husli, master ! here's some good pas- 
time toward : 
That wench is stark mad or wonderful fro- 
ward. 
Luc. But in the other's silence do I see 70 
Maid's mild behavior and sobriety. 
Peace, Tranio ! 

Tra. Well said, master ; mum ! and gaze 

your fill. 
Bap. Gentlemen, that I may soon nuike 
good 
.Vhat I have said, Bianca, get you in : 
And let it not displease thee, good Bianca, 
For I will love thee ne"er the less, my girl. 

Kath. A pretty peat ! it is best 
Put finger in the eye, an she knew why. 
Biun. Sister, content you in my discon- 
tent. 80 
Sir, to your pleasure liuinbly I subscribe : 
]\Iy books and instruments shall be my com- 
pany, 
On them to look and practise by myself. 
'Luc. Hark, Tranio ! thou may'st hear 

Minerva speak. 
Ilor. Siguier Baptista, will you be so 
strange ? 
Sorry am I that our good will effects 
Bianca' s grief. 

Gre. Why will you mew her up, 

Signior Baptista, for this fiend of liell. 
And make her bear the penance of her 
. tongue ? 
Bap. Gentlemen, content ye ; I am re- 
solved : !K) 
Go in, Bianca : [E-xit Bianca. 
And f<n- I know she taketh most dehght 
In music, instruments and jioetry. 
Schoolmasters will 1 keep w ithin my house. 
Fit to instruct her youth. If you, Hortensio, 
Or Signior Greniio,' you, know any such. 
Prefer them hither fforto cunning men 
I will be very kind, and liberal 
To mine own children in good bringing up : 
And so farewell. Katharina, you may stay ; 
For I have more to commune with. Bianca. 101 

[Ey:it. 
Kath. Wliy, and I trust I may go too, 
may I not? What, shall I be appointed hours; 
as though, belike, I knew not what to take, 
and what to leave, ha ? [Exit. 

Gre. You may go to the devil's dam : your 
gifts are so good, here's none will hold you. 
Their love is not so great, Hortensio, but we 

may l)low oui' waUs together, aw^i last it fairly 



486 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



[Act t. 



out : our cake's doush on both sides. Fare- 
well : yet, for the love I bear my sweet Bianca, 
if 1 can by any meaus light on a fit man to 
teach her that wherein she delights, I will 
wish him to her father. 

Hor. So will I, Signior Gremio : but a 
word, I pray. Though the nature of our 
quarrel yet never brooked parle, know now, 
upon advice, it toucheth us both, that we may 
yet again have access to our fair mistress and 
be happy rivals in Bianca's love, to labor and 
effect one thing specially. 121 

Gre. What's tliat, 1 pray ? [sister. 

Hor. Marry, sir, to get a husband for her 

Gre. A husband ! a devil. 

Hor. I say, a husband. 

Gre. I say, a devil. Thinkest thou, Hor- 
teusio, tliough her father be very rich, any 
man is so very a fool to be married to hell ? 

Hor. Tush, Gremio, though it pass your 
patience and mine to endure her loud alarums, 
why, man, there be good fellows in tlie world, 
an a man could light on them, would take her 
with all faults, and money enough. 

Gre. I cannot tell ; but I had as lief take 
her dowry with this condition, to be whipped 
at tlie high cross every morning. 

Hor. Faith, as you saj^, there's small choice 
in rotten apples. But come ; since this bar in 
law makes us friends, it shall be so far forth 
friendly maintained till by helping Baptista's 
eldest daughter to a husband we set his young- 
est free for a husband, and then have to't 
afresh. Sweet Bianca ! Happy man be his 
dole ! He that runs fastest gets the ring.* 
How say you, Signior Gremio ? 

Gre. I am agreed ; and would I had given 
him the best horse in Padua to begin his 
wooing that would thoroughly woo her, wed 
her and bed her and rid the house of her ! 
Come on. [Exeunt Gremio and Hortensio. 150 

Tra. I praj-, sir, tell me, is it possible 
That love should of a sudden take such hold ? 

Luc. Tranio, till 1 found it to be true, 
I never thought it possible or likely ; 
But see, while idlj' I stood looking on, 
I found the effect of love in idleness : 
And now in plainness do confess to thee. 
That art to me as secret and as dear 
As Anna to the queen of Carthage was, 
Tranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio, IGO 
If I achieve not this young modest girl. 
Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst ; 
Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt. 

Tra. Master, it is no time to chide you 
now ; 
Affection is not rated from the heart : 
If love have touch'd you, nought remains but 

so, 
"Eedime te captum quam queas minimo.' 

Lice. Gramercies, lad, go forward ; this 
contents : 
The rest will comfort, for thy counsel's sound. 

Tra. Master, you look'd so longly on the 

maid, 170 

Perhax^s you mark' d not what's the pith of all. 



Luc. yes, I saw sweet beauty in her 
face. 
Such as the daughter of Agenor had. 
That made great Jove to humble him to ber 

hand, 
When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan 
strand. 

Tra. Saw you no more ? mark'd you not 
how her sister 
Began to scold and raise up such a storm 
That mortal ears might hardly eudure the din ? 

Lite. Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move 
And with her breath she did perfume the air : 
Sacred and sweet was all I saw in her. 181 

Tra. Nay, then, 'tis time to stir him from 
his trance. 
I pray, awake, sir : if you love the maid. 
Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus 

it stands : 
Her eldest sister is so curst and siirewd 
That till the father rid his hands of her, 
Master, your love must live a maid at home ; 
And therefore has he closely mew'd her up. 
Because she will not be annoy'd with suitors. 

Luc. Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father's he! 
But art thou not advised, he took some care 
To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct 
her ? 

r?"a. Ay, marry, am I, sir ; and now 'tis 
plotted. 

Luc. I have it, Tranio. 

Tra. Master, for my hand. 

Both our inventions meet and jump in one. 

Luc. Tell me thine first. 

Tra. You will be schoolmaster 

And undertake the teaching of the maid : 
That's your device. 

I^vc. It is : may it be done ? 

Tra. Not possible ; for who shall bear 
your part. 
And be in Padua here Vincentio's son, 200 
Keep house and plj^ his book, welcome his 

friends, 
Visit his countrymen and banquet them ? 

Lite. Basta ; content thee, for I have i1 
full. 
We have not yet been seen in any house. 
Nor can we be distinguish 'd by our faces 
For man or master ; then it follows thus ; 
Thou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead, 
Keep house and port and servants, as I should : 
I will some other be, some Florentine, 
Some Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa. 210 
'Tis hatcli'd and shall be so : Tranio, at once 
Uncase thee ; take my color'd hat and cloak : 
When Biondello comes, he waits on thee ; 
But I will charm him fir.st to keep his tongue. 

Tra. So had you need. 
In brief, sir, sith it your pleasure is, 
And I am tied to be obedient ; 
For so your father charged me at our parting, 
' Be serviceable to my son,' quoth he, 
Although I think 'twas in another sense ; 22C 
I am content to be Lucentio, 
Because so well I love Lucentio. 

Lxic. Tranio, be so, because Lucentio loves: 



SCBNB II.] 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



487 



Aud let me be a slave, to achieve that maid 
Whose siuMeu sight hath thrall' d my wounded 

eye. 
Here comes tlie rogue. 

Enter Biondello. 

Sirvah, where have you been ? 

Bion- Where liave I lieen ! Nay, how 

now ! where are yoii ? Master, lias my fellow 

Tranio stolen your clothes ? Or you stolen 

his ? or both ? pray, what's the news ? 230 

Luc. Sirrah, come hither : 'tis no time to 

jest. 

And therefore frame your manners to the 

time. 
Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life. 
Puts my apparel and my countenance on. 
Anil I for my escape have put on his ; 
For iu a quarrel since I came ashore 
I IdlFd a man and fear I was descried : 
W ait you on him, I cliarge you, as becomes, 
\Vliile I make way from iience to save my 

life : 
Vi)ii understand me ? 
Bion. I, sir ! ne'er a whit. 240 

Luc. Aud not a jot of Tranio iu your 
mouth : 
Tranio is changed into Luceutio. 
Bion. The better for lum : would I were 

so too ! 
Tra. So could I, faith, boy, to have the 
next wish after, 
Tliat Luceutio indeed had Baptista's youngest 

daughter. 
But, sirrah, not for my sake, but your mas- 
ter's, I advise 
You use your manners discreetly in all kind 

of companies : ' 

When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio ; 
But in all jihices else your master Luceutio. 

JjUC. Tranio, let'j go : one thing more 
rests, that thyself execute, to make one among 
these wooers : if thou ask me why, sufflceth, 
my reasons are both good aud weighty. 

[^Exeunt. 

Tlie presenters above speak. 
First Serv. My lord, you nod ; you do not 

mind the play. 

Sill. Yi's, by Saiut Anne, do I. A good 

mattur, surely : comes there any more of it ? 

Pa;/i'. My lortl, 'tis but begun. 

Sh/. 'Tis a very excellent piece of work, 

ciadaui lady : would 'twere done ! 2.5!) 

[They sit and mark. 

Scene IL Padua. Before Hortensio's 
house. 

Enter Petruchio and his man Grumio. 

Pet. Verona, for a while I take my leave, 
To see ray friends in Padua, but of all 
My best beloved and approved friend, 
Hortensio ; and I trow this is his house. 
Here, sirrah Grumio; knock, I say. 

Grn. Knock, sir! whom should I knock? 
Is there any maw has rebused youi: worship ? 



Pet. Villain, I say, knock me here sound! j' 
Gru. Knock you here, sir ! why, sir, what 
am I, sir, that I should knock you here, sir ? 
Pet. Villain, I say, knock me at tliis gate 
Aud rap me well, or I'll knock your knave's 
pate. 
Gru. j\Iy master is grown quarrelsome. I 
should knock you first. 
And then I know after who comes by the 
worst. 
Pet. Will it not be ? 
Faith, sirrah, an you'll not knock, Fll ring it ; 
I'll try how you can sol, fa, and sing it. 

[He ivrings him by the ears. 
Gru. Help, masters, help ! my master is 

mad. 
Pet. Now, knock when I bid you, sirrah 
villain ! 

Enter Hortensio. 
Hor. How now ! what's the matter ? My 
old friend Grumio ! and my good friend 
Petruchio ! 

How do you all at Verona ? 
Pet. Signior Hortensio, come you to part 
the fray ? 
' Con tutto il cuore, ben trovato,' may I say. 

Hor. ' Alia nostra casa ben veuuto, molto 
houorato signor mlo Petruchio.' 
Rise, Grumio, rise : we will comijound this 
quarrel. 
Gru. Nay, 'tis no matter, sir, what he 
'leges in Latin. If this be not a lawful cause 
for me to leave his service, look you, sir, he 
bid me knock him and rap him soundly, sir: 
well, was it fit for a servant to use his master 
so, being perhajis, for aught I .':ee, two and 
thirty, a pip out ? 
Whom would to God I had well knock'd at 

first. 
Then had not Grumio come by the worst. 

Pet. A senseless villain I Good Hortensio, 
I bade the rascal knock upon your g;ite 
And could not get him for mv heart to do 
it. - ^ 

Gru. Knock at the gate ! heavens I 
Spake you not these words plain, ' Sirrali, 
knock me here, rap me liere. kuoclc me well, 
and knock me soundly * ? And come you now 
with, ' knocking at the gate ' ? 
Pet. Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise 

!^ ou. 
Hor. Petruchio, patience ; I am Grumio's 
pledge : 
Why, this's a heavy chance 'twixt him and 

you. 
Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio 
And tell me now, sweet friend, what happy 

gale 
Blows you to Padua here from old Verona ? 
Pet. Such wind as scatters young men 
through the world 56 

To seek their fortunes farther than at home 
Where small experience grows. But in a few, 
Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me; 
4ntPoio, my father is deceased ; 



488 



THE TAMIMG OF THE SHREW. 



:AoT I. 



And I have thrust myself into this maze, 
Haply to wive and thrive as best I may : 
Crowns ill my purse I have and goods at home. 
And so am come abroad to see the world. 
Hor. Petruchio, shall I then come roundly 
to thee 50 

And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favor'd wife ? 
Thou'ld.st thank me but a little for my coun- 
sel: 
And yet I'll promise thee she shall be rich 
And very rich : but thou'rt too much my 

friend, 
And I'll not wish thee to her. 
Pet. Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends 
as we 
Few words suffice ; and therefore, if thou 

know 
One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife, 
As wealth is burden of my wooing dance, 
Be she as foul as was Florentius' love, 
As old as Sibyl and as curst and shrewd 70 
As Socrates' Xanthippe, or a worse, 
8he moves me not, or not removes, at least. 
Affection's edge m me, were she as rough 
As are the swelling Adriatic seas : 
I come to wive it wealthily in Padua ; 
If wealthily, then ha|)pily in Padua. 

Gni. Xay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly 
what his mind is: why, give him gold enough 
and marry him to a puppet or an aglet-baby ; 
or an old trot with ne'er a tooth in her head, 
though she have as many diseases as two and 
fifty horses : why, nothing comes amiss, so 
money comes withal. 
Hor. Petruchio, since we are stepp'd thus 
far in, 
I will continue that I broach'd in jest. 
I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife 
With wealth enough and young and beauteous, 
Brought up as best Ijecomes a geiithnvouian : 
Her unly fault, and that is faults enough, 
Is that she is intolerable curst 
And shrewd and froward, so beyond all meas- 
ure 
That, were my stiite far worser than it is, 91 
1 would not wed her for a mine oi gold. 
Pet. Hortensio, peace ! thou know'st not 
gold's effect: 
ffeU me her father's name and 'tis enough ; 
For I will board her, though she chide as loud 
As thunder when the clouds in autumn crack. 

Hor. Her fati.sr is Baptista Minola, 
An affable and courteous gentleman : 
Her name is Ivvthari.na Minola, 
Renown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue. 
Pet. I know her father, though I know not 
her ; 101 

And he kuew my deceastd father well 
I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her ; 
And therefore let me be thu.i bold with you 
To give you over at this fii-st encounter, 
Unless you will accompany me thither. 

Gi'u. I pray you, sir, let him go while the 
humor lasts. O' luy word, an she knew him 
as well as I do, she would think scolding 
ifpiild do little good upoa Uiw : eUe may per- 



haps call him half a score knaves or so : why, 
that's nothing ; an he begin once, ht.'lJ rail in 
his rope-tricks. I'll tell you what, sir, an she 
stand him but a little, he will throw a figure 
in her face and so disfigure her with itthatshe 
shall have no more eyes to see withal than a 
cat. Yo'A know him not, sir. 

Ilor. Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee, 
Fo)' in Baptista's keep my treasure is : 
He hath the jewel of my life in hold. 
His youngest daughter, "beautiful Bianca, 120 
And her withholds from me and other morCj 
Suitors to her and rivals in my love. 
Supposing it a tiling impossibfe. 
For those detects 1 have before rehearsed, 
That ever Katliarina will be woo'd ; 
Tlierefore tliis order hath Baptista ta'en, 
That none shall have access unto Bianca 
Till Katharine the curst have got a husband. 

Gru. Katharine the curst ! 
A title for a maid of all titles tlie worst. 130 

IIov. Now shall my friend Petruchio do me 
grace, 
And offer me disguised in sober I'obes 
To old Bai)tista as a schoolmaster 
Well seen in music, to instruct Bianca ; 
That so I may, by this device, at least 
Have leave and leisure to make love to her 
And unsus[)ected court her by herself. 

Gru. Here's no knavery"! See, to begitile 
the old folks, how the young folks lay their 
heads together ! ' 140 

Enter Gkemio, and Lucentio cUsyuiscd. 

Master, master, look about you : who goes 
there, ha ? 
Ilor. Peace, Grumio ! it is the rival of my 
love. 
Petruchio, stand by a while. 

Gru. A proper stripling and an amorous ! 
Gre. 0, very well ; I have perused the note. 
Hark you, sir : I'll have them very fairly 

bound : 
All books of love, see that at any hand ; 
And see you read no other lectures to her : 
You understand me : over and beside 
Signior Baptista's liberality, 150 

I'll mend it with a largess. Take your papei 

too. 
And let me have them very well perfumed : 
For she is sweeter than perfume itself 
To whom they go to. What will you read to 
her ? 
Lite. Whate'er I read to her, I'U plead for 
you 
As for my patron, stand you so assured, 
As firmly as yourself were still in place : 
Yea, and i)eriiaps with more successful words 
Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir. 
Gre. O this learning, what a thing it is! 160 
Gru. O this woodcock, what an ass it is ! 
Pet. Peace, sirrah ! 

Hor. Grumio, mum ! God save you, Sig- 
nior Gremio. 
Qre. And you are well met, Sigmoi' Ho^ 
tensiQi 



Scene ii. 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



489 



Trow you whither I am going ? To Baptista 

Minola. 
I promised to inquire carefully 
About a schoolmaster for the fair Bianca : 
And by good fortune I have lighted well 
On this youug man, for learning and behavior 
Fit for her turn, well read in poetry 170 

Aud other bqpks, good ones, I warrant ye. 

Hor. 'Tis well ; aud I have met a geutle- 
man 
Hath promised me to help me to another, 
A tine musician to instruct our mistress ; 
So shall I no whit be behind in duty 
To fair Bianca, so beloved of me. 

Gre. Beloved of me ; aud that my deeds 
shall jirove. 

Gru. And that his bags shall prove. 

Hor. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our 
love : 
Listen to me, and if you speak me fair, 180 
I'll tell you news indifferent good for either. 
Here is a gentleman whom by chance 1 met, 
Upon agreement from us to his liking, 
Will undertake to woo curst Katharine, 
Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please. 

Gre. So said, so done, is well. 
Horteusio, have you told him all her faults ? 

Pet. I know she is an irksome brawling 
scold : 
n that be all, masters, I hear no harm. 

Gre. No, sav'st me so, friend ? What coun- 
tryman ? I'JO 

Pet. Born in Verona, old Antonio's son : 
My father dead, my fortune lives for me ; 
Aud I do hope good days and long to see 

Gre. O sir, such a life, with such a wife, 
were strange ! 
But if yoii have a stomach, to't i' God's name: 
You shall have me assisting you in all. 
But will you woo this wild-cat ? 

Pet. Will I live ? 

Gru. Will he woo her? ay, or I'll hang her. 

Pet. Why came I hither but to that intent ? 
Think you a little din can daunt mine ears ? 
Have I not in my time heard lions roar? 201 
Have I not heard the sea puff'd up with winds 
Rage like an angry boar chafed with sweat ? 
Have I not heard great ordnance in the field. 
And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies ? 
Have I not in a jjitched battle heard 
Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' 

clang ? 
And do you tell me of a woman's tongue. 
That gives not half so great a blow to hear 
As will a chestnut in a farmer's fire ? 210 
Tush, tush ! fear boys with bugs. 

Gru. For he fears none. 

tire. Horteusio, hark : 
This gentleman is hajipily arrived, 
My mind (jresumes, for his own good and ours. 

Ilor. I promised we would be contributors 
And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe'er. 

Gre And so we will, provided that he win 
her. 

&ru. I would I were as sure of a good din- 
ner. 



Enter Tkanio brave, and Biondello. 
Tra. Gentlemen, God ssvve you. If I may 
be bold. 
Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest 

way 
To the house of Signior Baptista Minola ? 221 
Bion. He that luis the two fair daughters: 
is't he you mean? 

Tru. Even he, Biondello. 

Gre. Hark you, sir ; you mean not her to — 

Tra. Perhaps, him and her, sir : what have 

you to do ? 
Pet. Not her that chides, sir, at any liand, 

I pray. 
Tra. I love no chiders, sir. Biondello, let's 

away. 
Luc. Well begun, Trauio. 
Hor. Sir, a word ere you go ; 

Are you a suitor to the maid you tiilk of, yea 
or no ? 230 

Tra. And if I be, sir, is it any offence ? 
Gre. No ; if without more words you wil. 

get you hence. 
Tra. Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets 
as free 
For me as for you ? 

Gre. But so is not she. 

Tra. For what reason, I beseech you ? 
Gre. For this reason, if you'll know, 

That .she's the choice love of Signior Gremio. 
Hor. That she's the chosen of Signior Hor- 
teusio. 
Tra. Softly, my masters ! if you be gentle- 
men, 
Do me this right ; hear me with patience. 
Baptista is a noble gentleman, 240 

To whom my father is not all unknown ; 
And were his diiughter fairer than she is. 
She may more suitors have and me for one. 
Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers ; 
Tlien well one more may fair Bianca luive : 
And so she shall ; Luccntio shall make one, 
Though Paris came in hope to speed alone. 
Gre. AVhat ! this gentleman will out-talk 

us all. 
Luc. Sir, give him head : I know he'll prove 

a jade. 
Pet. Horteusio, to what end are all these 
words ? 250 

Tlor. Sir, let me be so bold as ask you. 
Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter ? 
Tra. No, sir ; but hear I do that he hath 
two. 
The one as famous for a scolding tongue 
As is the other for beauteous modesty. 
Pet. Sir, sir, the first's for me ; let her 

go by. 
Gre. Yea, leave that labor to great Her- 
cules ; 
And let it be more than Alcide.s' twelve. 
Pet. Sir, understiind you this of me in 
sooth : 
The youngest daughter whom you hearken for 
Her father keeps from all access of suitors, 26J 
And will not promise her ti» any niaij 
Uutil the elder sistsv first be wed ; 



490 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



[Act It. 



The younger then is free and not before. 

Tra. \i it be so, sir, tliat you are the luan 
Must stead us all and me amongst the rest, 
And if you break the ice and do this feat. 
Achieve the elder, set the younger free 
For our access, whose hap shall be to have her 
Will not so graceless be tci be ingrate. 270 

Hor. Sir, you say well and well you do con- 
ceive ; 
And since you do profess to be a suitor, 
, You must, as Ave do, gratify this gentleman, 
To whom we all rest generally beholding. 
Tra. Sir, I shall not be" slack : in sign 
whereof, v 

Please ye we may contrive this afternoon, 
And quaff carouses to our mistress' liealtJi, 
And do as adversaries do in law, 
Strive mightily, but eat and drinli as friends. 
Gru. liion. O excellent motion ! Fellows, 
let's be gone. 280 

Hor. The motion's good indeed and be 
it so, 
Petruchio, I shall be your ben venuto. 

[Exezint. 



ACT n. 



Scene I. Padua. A room in Baptista's 
house. 

Enter Kathaeina and Bianca. 

Bian. Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong 
yourself, 
To malce a bondmaid and a slave of me ; 
That I disdain : but for these other gawds, 
Unbind my hands, I'll pull them off myself, 
Yea, all my raiment, to my ])etticoat ; 
Or what you will command nie will I do. 
So well I know my duty to my elders. 
Kath. Of all thy suitors, here I charge thee, 
tell 
Whom thou lovest best: see t.hou dissemble 
not. 
Bian. Believe me, sister, of all the men 
alive 10 

I never yet beheld that special face 
Which I could fancy more than any other. 
Kath. Minion, thou liest. Is't not Hor- 

tensio ? 

Bian. If you affect him, sister, here I swear 

I'll plead for you myself, but you shall have 

him. ' [more : 

Kath. O then, belike, you fancy riches 

You will have Greinio to keep you fair. 

Bian. Is it for him you do envy me so ? 
Nay then you jest, and now I well perceive 
You have but jested with me all this while: 20 
J prithee, sister Kate, untie my hands. 
Kath. If that be jest, then all the rest was 
so. iStrikes her. 

Enter Baptista. 
Bap. Wliy, how now, dame! whence grows 
this insolence ? 
Bianca, stand aside. Poor girl ! she weeps. 
Qo ply thy needle : meddls not with ber. 



For shame, thou hilding of a devilish spirit. 
Why dost thoLi wrong her that did ne'er wrong 

thee ? 
When did she cross thee with a bitter word? 
Katli. Her silence flouts me, and I'll be re- 
venged. [Flies after Bianca. 
Bap. Wliat, in my sight ? Bianca, get 
thee in. ' [Exit Bianca. 30 
Kath. What, will you not suffei*me ? Nay, 
now I see 
She is your treasure, she must have a husband " 
I must dance l)are-foot on her wedding day 
And lur .\(}iir love to her lead apes in he!). 
Talk not to me : I will go sit and Wcei' 
Till 1 can find occasion of revenge. [Exit 
liap. Was ever gentleman thus grieved as 1'.' 
But who comes here ? 

Enter Gkemio, Lucentio in the habit of a 
mean man ; Petruchio, loith Hortknsio 
as a m.vsician; and Tranio, v)ith Bion- 
DEi.,LO hearing a lute and books. 

Gre. Good morrow, neighbor Baptista. 
Bap. Good morrow, neighbor Gremio. God 
save you, gentlemen ! 41 

Pet. And you, good sir ! Pray, have you 
not a daughter 
Call'd Katharina, fair and virtuous ? 
Bap. I have a daughter, ,sir, cailed Katharina, 
Gre. You are too blunt : go to it orderly. 
Pet. You wrong me, Signior Gremio : give 
me leave. 
I am a gentleman of Verona, sir, 
That, hearing of her beauty and her wit, 
Her affability and b^v;hful modesty, 
Her wondrous qualities and mild behavior, 50 
Am bold to show myself a forward guest 
Within your house, to make mine eye the 

wit'iess 
Of that report which I so oft have lieard. 
And, for an entrance to my entertainment, 
I do present you with a man of mine, 

[Presenting Hortensio. 
Cunning in music and tlie mathematics. 
To instrtu;t her fully in those sciences, 
Wher(iof I Icnow she is not ignorant : 
Accept of him, or else you do me wrong : 
His name is Licio, born in Mantua. 60 

Bap. You're welcome, sir ; and he, for 
your good sake. 
But for my daughter Katharine, this I know. 
She is not for your turn, the more my grief. 

Pet. I see you do not mean to])art with her, 
Or else you like not of my company. 

Bap. Mistake jne not ; I speak but as I find. 
Whence are you, sir ? what may I call your 
name ? 
Pet. Petruchio is my name ; Antonio'u son, 
A man well known throughout all Italy. 
Bap. I know him well : you are welcome 
for his sake. 7D 

Gre. Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray. 
Let us, that aie pooi' petitioners, speak to.i : 
Baccare ! yon are marvellous forward. 
Pet. O, pardor. uie, Signior Gremio ; I would^ 
fain be doinL: 



SCENB 1.] 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



491 



Gre. I doubt it not, sir ; but you will curse 
your wooiug. 
Neiglii)or, this is a gift very grateful, I am 
Bure of it. To express tlie like kindness, myself, 
that liave l)eeu more kiudly beholding to you 
than any, freely give unto you this young 
scholar [presentlii(/ Lucentio], thi\t hath been 
long studying at lilieims; as cunning in Greek, 
Latin, and other hmguages, as the other in 
nuisic and luatliematics : his name is Cambio; 
pray, acceiit his service. 

l>i(p. A thdimand thanks, Signior Gremio. 
AVeU'oiue, gond Oambio. [7o Traaio] But, 
gentle sir, ii.cthink& vou walk like a .'Stranger: 
may I be so bold to know the cause of your 
coming ? 

Tni. Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine 

(JWIl, 

That, benig a stranger in this city here, 90 

i*i> make myself a suitor to your daughter, 

Unto Bianca, fail' and virtuous. 

Nur is your firm resolve unknown to me, 

In the prefernient of the eldest sister. 

This liberty is all that I request. 

That, upon knowledge of my parentage, 

1 may have welcome 'n.ongst the rest that woo 

And free access and favor as the rest : 

And, toward the education of your daughters, 

I here bestow a simple instrument, 100 

And this small packet of Greek and Latin 

books : 
If you accept them, then their worth is great. 
Bap. Lucentio is your name ; of whence, I 

pray ? 
Tra. Of Pisa, sir ; son to Vincentio, 
Bd}). A mighty man of Pisa ; by report 
I know him well : you are very welcome, sir, 
'lake you the lute, and you the set of books ; 
You shall go see your pupils presently. 
Holla, within ! 

Enter a Servant. 

Sirrah, lead these gentlemen 
To my daughters ; and tell them both, 110 
These are their tutors : bid them use them 
well. 
[Exit Servant, with Lucentio and Hortenm'o, 
Biondellofolloioing. 
We will go walk a little in tiie orchard. 
And then to dinner. You are passing welcome, 
And so I in-ay you all to think yourselves. 
Pet. Signior Baptista, my business asketh 
haste. 
And every clay I cannot come to woo. 
Vou knew my father well, and in him me, 
Left solely heir to all his lands and goods. 
Which I have better'd rather than decreased : 
Then tell me, if I get your daughter's love, 120 
What dowry shall I have with her to wife ? 
Bap. After my death the one half of my 
lands, 
And in possession twenty thousand crowns. 

Pet. And, for that dowry, I'll assure her of 
Her widowhood, be it that she survive me, 
In all my lands and leases whatsoever : 
Let specialties be t;herefore drawa between us, 



That covenants may be kept on either band. 
Bap. Ay, when the special thiiig is well 
obtain'd, 
That is, her love ; for that is all in all. loO 

Pet. Why, that is nothing ; for I tell you 
father, 
I am as peremptory as she proud-minded ; 
And where two raging fires meet together 
They do consume the thing that feeds their fury. 
Though little fire grows great with little v.ind, 
Yet extreme gusts will blow out tire and all : 
So I to her and so she yields to me ; 
For I dm rough and wtio not like a babe. 
Bap. Well ma\ St thou woo, and happy be 
thy speed! 
But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words. 
Pet, Ay, to the proof ; as mountains are for 
winds, 141 

That shake not, though they blow perpetually. 

Re-enter Hortensio, icith his head broke. 

Bap. How now, my friend ! why dost thou 

look so pale ? 
Ilor. For fear, I promise you, if I look pale. 
Bap. What, will my daughter prove a good 

musician ? 
Ilor. 1 think she'll sooner prove a soldier : 
Iron may hold with her, but never lutes. 
Bap. W^hy, then thou canst not break her 

to the lute? 
Ilor. \\\\j, no ; for she hath broke the 

lute to me. 
I did but tell her she mistook her frets, 150 
And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering ; 
\\'iien, with a most impatient devilish sjiirit, 
' Frets, call you these ? ' c]uotli she ; ' I'll fume 

witii them : ' 
And, with that word, she struck me on the 

head, 
And through the iustrumeut my pate made 

way ; 
And there I stood amazed for a while. 
As on a pillory, looking througli the lute ; 
AVhile she did call me rascal liddler 
And twangling Jack ; with twenty such vile 

terms, 
As had she studied to misuse me so. 100 

Pet. Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench ; 
I love her ten times more than e'er 1 did : 
O, how I long to have .some chat with her ! 
Bap. Weil, go with me and be not so dis- 
comfited : 
Proceed in practice with my younger daughter; 
Slie's apt to leani and thankful forgood turns. 
Signior Petruchio, will you go with us, 
Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you ? 
Pet. I pray you do. \ E.n'uut all but Petr%i- 

chio.] I will attend her here, 169 

And woo her with some spirit when she coms::. 
S.ay that she rail ; why then I'll tell her plain 
She sings as sweetly as a nightingale : 
Say that she frown ; I'll say she looks as dear 
As morning roses nrwly wash'd with dew : 
Say she be mute and will not speak a word ; 
Then I'll commend her volubility. 
And say she uttereth piercing eloquouce ; 



492 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



[Act It 



If she do bid me pack, I'll give her flianks, 
As though she bid me stay by her a week : 
If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day 180 

When I shall ask the banns and when be mar- 
ried. 
But here she comes ; and now, Petruchio, 



Enter Kathakina. 

Good morrow, Kate ; for that's your name, I 
hear. 
Kath. Well have you heard, but somethuig 
hard of hearing : 
They call me Katharine that do talk of me. 
Pet. You lie, in faith ; for you are call'd 
plain Kate, 
And bonny Kate and sometimes Kate the curst; 
But Kate, the jirettiest Kate in Christendom 
Kate of Kate Hall, my super-dainty Kate, 
For dainties are all Kates, and therefore, Kate, 
Take this of me. Kate of my cDiisohition ; I'.il 
Hearing thy mildness prai^e(l in every town. 
Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, 
Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs. 
Myself am moved to woo thee for my wife. 
Kath. Moved ! in good time ; let him that 
moved you hither 
Remove you hence ; I knew you at the first 
You were a moveable. 
Pet. Why, what's a moveable? 

Kath. A .join'd-stool. 

Pet. Thou hast hit it : come, sit on me. 

Kath. Asses are made to bear, and so are 

you. 
Pet. Women are made to bear, and so are 

you. 
Kath. No such jade as you, if me you mean. 
Pet. Alas ! good Kate, I will not burden 
thee ; 
For, knowing thee to be but young and liglit — 
Kath. Too light for such a swain as you to 
catch ; 
And ^et as heavy as my weight should be. 
Pet. Should be ! should— buzz ! 
Kath. Well ta'eu, and like a buzzard. 

Pet. O slow-wing'd turtle ! shall a buzzard 

take thee ? 
Kath. Ay, fur a turtle, as he takes a buz- 
zard. 
Pet. Come, come, you wasp ; i' faith, you 
are too angry. 210 

Kath. If I be waspish, best beware my sting. 
Pet. My remedy is tlien, to pluck it out. 
Kath. Ay, if the fool could find it where it 

lies. 
Pet. Who knows not where a wasp does 
wear his sting ? In his tail. 
Kath. In his tongue. 
Pet. Whose tongue ? 
Kath. Yours, if you talk of tails : and so 

farewell. 
Pet. What, with my tongue in your tail ? 
nay, come again, 
Good Kate ; I am a gentleman. 

Kath . That I'll try. [.S7ie strike.^ him. 220 

PeU I(5wearrUcuff.you,Jfyoustnkeagaiu, 



Kath. So may you lose your arms : 
If you strike me, you are no gentleman ; 
And if no gentleman, why then no arm.s. 
Pet. A herald, Kate ? 0, put me iii thy 

books ! 
Kath. What is your crest ? a coxcomt) ? 
Pet. A combless cock, so Kate will be mj 

hen. 
Kath. No cock of mine ; you crow too like 

a craven. 
Pet. Nay, come, Kate, come ; you must not 

look so sour. 
Kath. It is m.y fashion, when I see a crab. 
Pet. Why, here's no crab ; and therefore 
look not sour. 231 

Kath. There is, there is. 
Pet. Then show it me. 
Kath. Had 1 a glass, I would. 
Pet. What, you mean my face ? 
Kath. Well aim'd of sucli a young one. 
Pet. Now, by Saint George, I am too young 

for you. 
Kath. Yet you are wither' d. 
J'et. 'Tis with cares. 240 

Kath. I care not. 
Pet. Nay, hear you, Kate : in sooth you 

scajjc not so. 
Kath. 1 chafe you, if I tjirry : let me go. 
Pet. No, not a whit ; 1 find you passing 
gentle. 
'Twas told me you were rougli and coy and 

sullen, 
And now I find report a very liar ; 
For thou are pleasant, gamesome, passing cour- 
teous. 
Cut slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time 

flowers : 
Thou canst not frown, thou canst not lo)k 

askance. 
Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will, 250 
Nor hast tliou pleasure to be cross in talk. 
But thou with mildness entertaiu'st thy wooers, 
With gentle conference, soft and iii'fabie. 
Why does the world report that Kate doth 

limp ? 
O slanderi)us world ! Kate like the hazel-twig 
Is straight and slender and as brown in hue 
As hazel nuts and sweeter than tlie kernels. 
O, let me see thee walk : thou dost not halt. 
Kath. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st 

command. 
Pet. Did ever Dian so become a grove 200 
As Kate this cliamber with her jnincely gait ? 
O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate ; 
And then let Kate be chaste and Dian sportful! 
Kath. Where did you study all this goodly 

speech ? 
Pet. It is extempore, from my mother-wit 
Kath, A witty mother ! witless else her bod 
Pet. Am I not wise ? 
Kath. Yes ; keep you warm. 
Pet. Marry, so I mean, sweet Katliarliie, 
in thy bed : 
And therefore, setting all this chat aside, 270 
Thus in plain terms : your father bath COU- 
sented, 



Scene i. 



THE TAMING Of THE SIltiEW. 



4d3 



That you shall be ray wife ; your dowry 'greed 

on ; 
And, will you, nill you, I will marry you. 
Now, Kate, I am a luisbaixl lor your turn ; 
For, by this light, whereby 1 see thy beauty, 
Thy beauty, that doth nuikeme like tliee well, 
Thou must be married to no man but me ; 
For I am he am born to tame you Kate, 
And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate 
Conformable as other household Kates. 280 
Here comes your father : never make denial ; 
I must and will have Katharine to my wile. 

Re-enter Baptista, Gremio, and Tranio. 

Bap. Now, Signior Petruchio, how speed 

you with mj' daughter ? 
Pet. How but well, sir ? how but well ? 
It were impossible I should speed amiss. 
Bap. Wliy, how now, daughter Katharine ! 
in your dumps ? [ise you 

Kath. Call you me daughter ? now, I jirom- 
You have show'd a tender fatherly regard, 
To wish me wed to one half lunatic ; 
A mad-ciip rnftian and a swearing Jack, 2il0 
That thinks with oaths to face the matter out. 
Bet. Father, 'tis thus : yourself and all the 
world, 
That talk'd of her, have talk'd amiss of her : 
If she be curst, it is for policy. 
For she's not froward, but modest as the dove; 
She is not hot, but temperate as the morn ; 
For patience slie will prove a second Grissel, 
And Roman Lucrece lor her chastity ; 
And to conclude, we have 'greed so well to- 
gether. 
That upon Sunday is the wedding-day. 300 
Kath. I'll see tliee haug'd on Sunday first. 
Gre. Hark, Petrnchio ; she says she'll see 

thee hang'd first. 
Tra. Is this your speeding ? nay, then, 

good night our part ! 
Pet. Be patient, gentlemen ; I choose her 
for myself : 
If she and I be pleased, what's tliat to you ? 
'Tis bargaiu'd 'twixt us twain, being alone. 
That she shall still be curst in company. 
I tell you, "tis incredible to believe 
How much she loves me : O, the kindest Kate! 
She hung about my neck ; and kiss on kiss 
She vied so fast, protesting oath on oath, 311 
That in a twink she won me to her love. 
O, you are novices ! 'tis a world to see, 
How tame, when men and women are alone, 
A meacock wretch can make the curstest 

shrew. 
Give me tliy hand, Kate : I will unto Venice, 
To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day. 
Provide the feast, fatlier, and bid the guests ; 
I will be sure my Katharine shall be fine. 
Bap. I know not what to say : but give me 
your hands ; 320 

God send you joy, Petruchio 1 'tis a match. 
Ore. Tra. Amen, say we : we will be wit- 
nesses. 
Fet. Fatlier, and wile, aud geutlemen, 
adieu ; 



I will to Venice ; Sunday comes apace : 
We will have rings and things and tine array, 
And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o' Sun- 
day. 

[Exeidit Petruchio and Katharina sereruliij. 

Gre. Was ever match clapp'd up so sud- 
denly ? 

Bap. Faith, gentlemen, now I play u mci-- 
chant's part, 
And venture madly on a desperate mart. 

Tra. 'Twas a commodity lay fretting by 
you : 330 

'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas. 

Bap. The gain I seek is, cpiiet in the match. 

Gre. No doubt but he hath got a quiet 
catch. 
But now, Baptista, to j'our younger daughter: 
Now is the day we long have looked for : 
I am your neighbor, aud was suitor first. 

Tra. And 1 am one that love liianca more 
Than words can witness, or your thoughts cjiu 
guess. 

Gre. Youngling, thou can.st not love so dear 
as I. 

Tra. Greybeard, thy love doth freeze. 

Gre. But thine doth fry. 340 

Skipper, stand back : 'tis age that nourisheth 

Tra. But youth in ladies' eyes that llour- 
isheth. 

Bap. Content you, gentlemen : I will com- 
pound this strife : 
'Tis deeds must win the prize ; and he of both 
That can assure my daugliter greatest dower 
Shall have my Bianca's love. 
Say, Signior Gremio, what can you assure her? 

Gre. First, as you know, my house within 
the city 
Is richly furnished with plate and gold ; 
Basins and ewers to lave her dainty hands ; 
Jly hangings all of Tyrian tapestry ; 351 

In ivory cotifers I have stuft'd my crowns ; 
In cypress chests my arras counterpoints, 
Costly apparel, tents, and canopies. 
Fine linen, Turkey cushions boss'd with pearL 
Valance of Venice gold in needlework, 
Pewter and brass aud all things that belong 
To house or housekeeping : then, at my farm 
I have a hundred milch-kine to the paii, 
Sixscore fat oxen standing in my stalls, 360 
Aud all things answerable to this portion. 
Myself am struck in years, I must confess ; 
Aud if I die to-morrow, this is hers. 
If whilst I live she will be o?)ly mine. 

Tra. That ' only ' came w ell in. Sir, list 
to me : 
I am my father's heir and only son : 
If I may have your daughter to my wife, 
I'll leave her houses three or four as good. 
Within rich Pisa walls, as any one 
Old Signior Gremio has in Padua ; 370 

Besides two thousand ducats by the year 
Of fruitful laud, all whicli shall be her joint- 
ure. 
What, have I pinch'd you, Signior Gremio ? 

Gre. Two thousand ducata by the year ol 
'^iand J 



M 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



[Act in. 



My land amounts not to so much in all : 
That she shall have ; besides an argosy 
That now is lyinjiin Marseilles' road. 
What, have 1 choked you with an argosy ? 
Tra. Gremio, 'tis known my father hath 
no less 
Than three great argosies ; besides two gal- 
liases, 380 
And twelve tight galleys : these I will assure 

her. 
And twice as much, whate'er thou offer'st 
next. 
Gre. Nay, I have offer'd all, I have no 
more ; 
And she can have no more than all I have : 
If you like me, she sliall have me and mine. 
Tra. Why, then tlie maid is mine from all 
the world, 
By your firm promise : Gremio is out-vied. 

Bap I must confess your offer is the best ; 

And, let your father make her the assurance, 

She is your own ; else, you must pardon me, 

If you should die before him, where's her 

dower ? 391 

Tra. That's but a cavil : he is old, I young. 

Gre. And may not young men die, as well 

as old ? 
Bap. Well, gentlemen, 
I am thus resolved : on Sunday next you know 
My daughter Katharine is to be juarried : 
Now, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca 
Be bride to you, if you make this assurance ; 
If not, to Signior Gremio : 
And so, I take my leave, and thank you both. 
Gre. Adieu, good neighbor. 400 

[Exit Baptisia. 
Now I fear thee not : 
Sirrah young gamester, your father were a fool 
To give thee all, and in his waning age 
Set foot under thy table : tut, a toy ! 
An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy. 

[Exit. 
Tra. A vengeance on your crafty wither' d 
hide ! 
Yet I have faced it with a card of ten. 
'Tis in my head to do my master good : 
I see no reason but supposed Lueentio 
Must get a lather, call'd ' supposed Vincentio;' 
And that's a wonder : fathers couiuionly 411 
Dc' get their children ; but in this case of woo- 
ing, 
A child shall get a sire, if I fail not of my cun- 
ning. lExit. 



ACT m. 

Scene I. Padua. Baptista's hoii.se. 
Enter Lucentio, Hortensio, and Bianca. 

Luc Fiddler, forbear ; you grow too for- 
ward, sir: 
Have you so soon forgot the entertainment 
Her sister Katharine welcomed you witlial ? 

Hor. Bat, wrangling pedant,. Uiis is 



The patroness of heavenly harmony : 
Then give me leave to have prerogative ; 
And when in music we have spent an nour, 
Your lecture shall have leisure for as much. 

Luc. Preposterous ass, that never read so 
far 
To know the cause why music was ordain'd ! 
W;is it not to refresh the mind of man 11 

After his studies or his usual pain ? 
Then give me leave to read philosophy, 
And wliile 1 pause, serve in your liarmony. 

Hor. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of 
thine. 

Bian. Why, gentlemen, you do me double 
wrong. 
To strive for tliat wliiqli resteth in my qjioice : 
I am no breeching scholar in the schools ; 
I'll not be tied to hours nor 'pointed times, 
But learn my lessons as I please myself. 29 
And, to cut off all strife, here sit we down : 
Take you your instrument, play you the whiles, 
His lecture will be done ere you have tuned. 

Hor. You'll leave his lecture when I am in 
tune ? 

Luc. That will be never : tune your instru- 
ment. 

Bian. Where left we last ? 

Luc. Here, madam : 

'Hie ibat Simois ; hie est Sigeia tellus ; 
Hie steterat Priami regia celsa senis.' 

Bian. Construe them. 30 

Luc. ' Hie ibat,' as I told you before, ' Si- 
mois,' I am Lucentio, ' hie est,' son unto Vin- 
centio of Pisa, 'Sigeia tellus,' disguised thus 
to get your love; 'Hie steterat,' and that 
Lucentio that comes a-wooiug, ' Priami,' is my 
man Tranio, 'regia,' bearing my port, 'celsa 
senis,' that we might beguile the old panta- 
loon. 

Hor. Madam, my instrument's in tune. 

Bian. Let's hear. O fie ! the treble jars. 

Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again. 

Bian. Now let me see if I can construe it : 
'Hie ibat Simois,' I know you not, 'hie e,st 
Sigeia tellus,' I trust you not ; ' Hie steterat 
Priami,' take heed he hear us not, ' regia,' 
presume not, ' celsa senis,' despair not. 

Hor. Madam, 'tis now in tune. 

Luc. AH but the base, 

Hor. The base is right ; 'tis the base knave 
that jars. 
[Aside'] How fiery and forward our pedant is ! 
Now, for my life, the knave doth court my 

love : 
Pedascule, I'll watch you better yet. 50 

Bian. In time I may believe, yet I mistrust. 

Luc. Mistrust it not : for, sure, ^lacides 
Was Ajax, call'd so from his grand lather. 

Bian. I must believe my master ; else. I 
promise you, 
I should be arguing still upon that doubt : 
But let it rest. Now, Licio, to you : 
Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray, 
That I have been thus pleasant with you both. 

Hor. You may go walk, and give me leave 
a wliile ; 



Scene i.] 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



495 



My lessons make no music in three parts. GO 
Zmc. Are you so formal, sir ? well, I must 
wait, 
[Aside] And watch withal ; fot but I be de- 
ceived, 
Our fine musician groweth amoivAis. 
Hot: Jladam, before you touch the instru- 
ment, 
To learn the order of my fingering, 
1 must begin with rudiments of art ; 
To teach you gamut in a briefer sort, 
Jlore pleasant, pitliy and effectual. 
Than liatli been taugiit by any of my trade : 
And there it is in writing, fairly drawn. 70 
Biaii. AV'hy, I am past my gamut long ago. 
Hor. Yet read the ganuit of Ilortensio. 
Bian. l^Reads] " ' Gamut' 1 am, the ground 
of all accord, 

' A re,' to plead Flortensio's passion ; 
*B mi,' Bianca, take him for thy lord, 

'C fa ut,' that loves with all affection : 
*D sol re,' one clef, two notes have I ; 
' E la mi,' show pity, or I die." 
Call yoithis gamut ? tiit, I like it not : 
Old fashions please me best ; 1 am not so 

nice. 
To change true rules for old inventions. 81 

Enter a Servant. 

Serv. Mistress, your father prays you leave 
your books 
And help to dress your sister's chamber up : 
You know to-morrow is the wedding-day. 
Bian. Farewell, sweet masters both; I must 
be gone. [Exeunt Bianca and Servant. 
Luc. Faith, mistress, then I have no cause 
to stay. [Exit. 

Hor. But I have cause to pry into this pe- 
dant : 
Methinks he looks as though he were in love : 
Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble 
To cast thy wandering eyes on every stale, 90 
Seize thee that list : if once I find thee rang- 
ing, 
Horteusio will be quit with thee by changing. 

[Exit. 

Scene II. Padua. Before Baptista's house. 

Enter Baptista, Gremio, Tkaxio, Katha- 
KiNA, Bianca, Lucentxo, ajid others, at- 
tendants. 

Bap. [To Tranio] Siguier Luceutio, this is 
the 'pointed day, 

rhat Katharine and Petruchio should be mar- 
ried. 

And yet we hear not of our son-in-law. 

What will be said ? what mockery will it be, 

To want the bridegroom when the priest at- 
tends 

To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage ! 

Wliat says Luceutio to this shame of ours ? 
Kath. No shame but mine : I must; forsooth, 
be forced 

To give my hand opposed against my heart 

Unto a niad-braiu rudesby full of spleen •; 10 



Who woo'd in haste and means to wed tit leis- 
ure. 
I told you, I, he was a frantic fool. 
Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behavior : 
And, to be noted for a merry man, 
He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of mar- 
riage, 
Make feasts, invite friends, and proclaim the 

bamis ; 
Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd. 
Now must the world point at poor Katharine, 
And say, ' Lo, there is mad retruchio's wife. 
If it would please him come ami marry her ! ' 
Tra. Patience, good Ivatharine, and Bap- 
tista too. 21 
Upon my life, Petruchio means but well. 
Whatever fortune stays him from his word : 
Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise; 
Though he be merry, yet withal he's honest. 
Kath. Would Katharine had never seen him 
though ! 
[Exit v:ecpinfj, followed hy Bianca and others. 
Bap. Go, girl ; I cannot blame thee now to 
weep ; 
For such an injury would vex a very saint. 
Much more a shrew of thy impatient humor. 

Enter Biondello. 

Bion. Master, master ! news, old news, and 
such news as you never heard of ! 31 

Ba}). Is it new and old too ? how may that 
be ? 

Bion. Why, is it not news, to hear of Petru- 
chio's coming ? 

Bap. Is he come ? 

Bio7i. Whv, no, sir. 

Bap. What then ? 

Bion. He is coming. 

Bap. When will he be here ? 

Bioii. When he stands where I am and sees 
you there. 41 

7Vo. But say. what to thine old news ? 

Bion. Why, Petruchio is coming in a new 
hat and an old jerkin, a pair of old breeches 
tluice turned, a pair of boots that have been 
candle-cases, one bnclcled, another laced, an 
old rusty sword ta'eu out of the town-;unu)r\ , 
with a broken hilt, and chajicless ; with two 
broken points : his horse hipped a\ itli an old 
motliy saddle and stirrups of no kindred ; be- 
sides, possessed with the glanders and like to 
mose in the chine ; troubled witli the iampas.'i, 
infected with the fashions, full of windgalln, 
sped with spavins, rayed with the yellows, 
past cure of the fives, starlc spoiled with the 
staggers, begnawn with the bots, swayed in 
the back and shoulder-shotten : ncar-leggcd 
before and with a half-checked bitand ahead- 
stall of sheep's leather which, being restrained 
to keep him from stumbling, hath been olten 
bur.st and now repaired with knots ; one girth 
six times pieced and a woman's crupjier of vel- 
nre, which hath two letters for her name fairly 
set down iu studs, and iiere and there pieced 
with ])ackthread. 

Jiqjp- Who comes with hioi ? 



496 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



fAcT III. 



Bion. 0, sir, his lackey, for all the world 
caparisoned like the horse ; with a linen stock 
on one leg and a kersey boot-hose on the other, 
gartered with a red and blue list ; an old hat 
and ' the humor of forty fancies' pricked in't 
for a feather ; a monster, a very monster in ap- 
parel, and not like a Christian footboy or a 
gentleman's laclcey. 

Tra. 'Tis some odd humor pricks him to 
tins fashion ; 
Yet oftentimes he goes but mean-apparell'd. 
Bap. I am glad he's come, howsoe'er he 

comes. 
Bion. Why, sir, he comes not. 
Bap. Didst thou not say he comes ? 
Bion. Who ? that Petruchio came ? 
Bap. Ay, that Petruchio came. 80 

Bion. No, sir ; I say his horse comes, with 
him on his back. 
Bajp. Why, that's all one. 
Bion. Nay, by Saint Jamy, 
I hold you a penny, 
A horse and a mau 
Is more than one. 
And yet not many. 

Enter Petruchio and Gbumio. 

Pet. Come, where be these gallants ? who's 

at home ? 
Bap. You are welcome, sir. 
Pet. And yet I come not well. 90 

Bap. And yet you halt not. 
Tra. Not so well apparell'd 

As I wish you were. 

Pet. Were it better, I should rush in thus. 
But where is Kate ? where is my lovely bride? 
How does my father ? Gentles, methinks you 

frown : 
And wherefore gaze this goodly com]iany, 
As if they saw some wondrous monument, 
Some comet or luiusual prodigy ? 
Bap. Why, sir, you know this is your wed- 
ding-day : 
First were we sad, fearing you would not 
cofne ; 100 

Now sadder, that you come so unprovided. 
Fie, doff this habit, shame to your estate, 
An eye-sore to our solemn festival ! 

Tra. And tells us, wliat occasion of import 
Hath all so long detain'd you from your wife, 
And sent you hither so unlike yourself ? 
Pet. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to 
hear : 
Sufflceth, I am come to keep my word. 
Though in some part enforced to digress ; 
Which, at more leisure, I will so excuse 110 
As you shall well be .satisfied withal. 
But where is Kate ? I stay too long from her: 
The morning wears, 'tis time we were at 
church. 
Tra. See not your bride in these unrever- 
ent robes : 
Go to my chamber; put on clothes of mine. 
Pet. Not I, believe me : thus I'll visit her. 
Bap. But thus, I trust, you will not marry 
her. 



Pet. Good sootli, even thus ; therefore ha* 
done with words : 
To me she's married, not unto my clothes : 
Could I repair what she will wear in me, 120 
As I can change these poor accoutrements, 
'Twere well for Kate and better for myself. 
But what a fool am I to chat with you. 
When I should bid good morrow to my brid«, 
And seal the title with a lovely kiss ! 

\_Exeunt Petruchio and Grumio. 
Tra. He hath some meaning in his mad at- 
tire : 
We will persuade him, be it possible. 
To put on better ere he go to church. 
Bap. I'll after him, and see the event ot 
this. 
[Exeunt Baptista, Gremio, and attendants. 
Tra. But to her love concerneth us to add 
Her father's liking : which to bring to pass, 
As I before imparted to your worship, 
I am to get a man, — whate'er he be. 
It skills not much, we'll fit him to our turn 
And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa ; 
And make assurance here in Padua 
Of greater sums than 1 have promised. 
So shall you quietly enjoy your hope. 
And marry sweet Biauca with consent. 
Liic. Were it not that my fellow-school- 
master 140 
Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly, 
'Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage; 
Which once perform'd, let all the world say 

no, 
I'll keep mine own, despite of all the world. 
Tra. That by degrees we mean to look 
into, 
And watch our vantage in this business : 
We'll over-reach the greybeard, Gremio, 
The narrow-prying father, Minola, 
The quaint musician, amorous Licio ; 
All for my master's sake, Lucentio. 150 

Re-enter Gremio. 

Signior Gremio, came you from the church ? 
Gre. As willingly as e'er I came from 

school. 
Tra. And is the bride and bridegroom com- 
ing home ? 
Gre. A bridegroom say you ? 'tis a groom 
indeed, 
A grumbling groom, and that the girl shaU 
find. 
Tra. Curster than she ? why, 'tis impos- 
sible. 
Gre. Why, he's a devil, a devil, a very 

fiend. 
Tra. Why, she's a devil, a devil, the devil's 

dam. 
Gre. Tut, she's a lamb, a dove, a fool to 
him ! 
I'll tell you, Sir Lucentio : when the priest 160 
Should ask, if Katharine should be his wife, 
' Ay, by gogs-wouns,' quoth he ; and swore sc 

loud, 
That, all-amazed, the priest let fall the book ; 
And, as he stoop' d again to take it up. 



Bcttnt t] 



TBE TAMING OF TBE SHREW. 



491 



I 



TTie mad-brain' d bridegroom tooli him such a 

cuff 
' hat down fell priest and book and boob and 

priest : 
Now take them up,' quoth he, ' if any list.' 
Tra. What said tlie wencli wlien he rose 

again ? 
Gre. Trembled and sliook ; for why, he 

sfcimp'd and swore, 
A.S if the vicar meant to cozen him. 170 

But after many ceremonies done, 
he calls for wine : ' A health ! ' quoth he, as 

if 
He had been aboard, carousing to his mates 
After a storm ; quaff'd off the muscadel 
And threw the sops all in the sexton's face ; 
Having no other reason 
Uut that liis beard grew thin and hungerly 
And seem'd to ask him soi)s as he was drink- 
ing. 
This done, he took the bride about the neck 
And kiss'd her lips with such u clamorous 

smack 180 

That at tlie parting all the church did echo : 
And I weeing tliis came thence for very shame; 
And after me, I know, tlie rout is coming. 
Sucli a mad marriage never was before : 
Harli, hark 1 I hear the minstrels play. 

\_Music. 

Re-enter 'PF/r-RVcmo, Kathakina, Bfanca, 
Baptist A, Hortensio, Grumio, ami Train. 

Pet. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you 
for your pains : 
I know you think to dine with me to-day, 
And have prepared great store of wedding 

clieer ; 
But so it is, my haste doth call me hence, 189 
And therefore here I mean to take my leave. 

Bap. Is't possible you will away to-night ? 

Pet. I must away to-day, before night 
come : 

Make it no wonder ; if you Icnew my business, 
You would entreat me ratlier go tlian stay. 
And, honest company, I thank you aU, 
That have beheld me give away myself 
To tliis most patient, sweet and virtuous wife: 
Dine with my fatlier, drink a health to me ; 
Vor I must lience ; and farewell to you all. 

Tra. Let us entreat you stay till after din- 
ner. 

Pet. It may not be. 

Gre. Let me entreat you. 

Pet. It cannot be. 

Kath. Let me entreat you. 201 

Pet. I am content. 

Kath. Are you content to stay ? 

Pet. I am content you shall entreat me 
stay ; 
But yet not stay, entreat me how you can. 

Kath. Now, if you love me, stay. 

Pet. Grumio, my horse. 

Gru. Ay, sir, they be ready : the oats have 
eaten tlie horses. 

£ath, Nayr Ui«n, 



Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day ; 210 
No, nor to-morrow, not till I please myself. 
Tlie door is open, sir ; there lies your way ; 
You may be jogging whiles your boots are 

green ; 
For me, I'll not be gone till I please myself : 
'Tis like you'll jirove a jolly surly groom. 
That take it on you at the first so roundly. 
Pet. O Kate, content thee ; pritliee, be not 

angry. 
Aath. I will be angry : what hast thou to 
do? 
Father, be quiet ; he shall stay my leisure. 219 
Gre. Ay, marry, sir, now it begins to work. 
Kath. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal 
dinner : 
I see a woman may be made a fool. 
If she liad not a spirit to resist. 
Pet. They shall go forward, Kate, <it thy 
command. 
Obey tlie bride, you that attend on her ; 
Go to the feast, revel and domineer. 
Carouse full measure to her maidenhead, 
Be mad and merry, or go hang yourselves : 
Hut for my bonny Kate, she nuist with nie. 
Nay, look not big, nor stamp, nor sUire, nor 
fret ; 2^0 

I will be master of what is mine own : 
She is my goods, my chattels ; slie is my 

house. 
My houseliold stuff, my field, my brrn, 
My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing ; 
And here she stands, touch her whoever dare •, 
I'll b''ing mine action on the proudest he 
T)' J stops my w.ay in Padua, (iruniio, 
Liaw forth thy weapon, we are beset with 

thieves ; 
Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man. 
Fear ]iot, sweet wench, they shall not touch 
thee, Kate : 240 

I'll buckler thee against a million. 

[Exeunt Petrnchio, Kutharinn, and Grinnio. 

Bap. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet 

ones. 
Gre. Went they not quickly, I should die 

with laughing. 
TriX. Of all mad matches never was the 

like. 
Luc. Mistress, what's your opinion of your 

sister ? 
Bian. That, being mad herself, slie's madly 

mated. 
Gre. I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated. 
Bap. Neighbors and Incurs, tliougn oride 
and bridegroom wants 
For to supply the place at the table, 
You know there wants no junkets at the 
feast. 250 

Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom's 

place : 
And let Biauca take her sister's room. 

Tra. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to 

bride it? 
Bap. She shall, Lucentio. Come, gentle- 
men, let's go, ' [Exmnt, 
32 



493 



TBE TAMn\G UF THE SHREW. 



[Act IV".- 



ACT IV. 

Scene I. Petruchio's country house. 

Enter GRUJno. 

Gi'U. Fie, fie on .ill tired jades, on all mad 
masters, and all foul ways ! Was ever man so 
beaten ? was ever man so rayed ? was ever 
man so wearj^ ? I am sent before to make a 
fire, and tliey are coming after to warm tliem. 
Now, were not I a little pot and soon hot, my 
very lips miyiit freeze to my teeth, my tongue 
to the roof of my mouth, mj' heart in my belly, 
ere I should come by a fire to tliaw me : but 
I, with blowing the fire, shall warm myself ; 
for, considering the weather, a taller man than 
I will take cold. Holla, ho ! Curtis. 

Enter Curtis. 

Curt. Who is that calls so coldly ? 

Gru. A piece of ice : if thou doubt it, tlioii 
mayst slide from my shoulder to my heel with 
no greater a run but my head and my neck. A 
fire, good Curtis. 

Ctirt. Is my master and his wife coming, 
Grnmio ? 

Gi-u. O, ay, Curtis, ay : and therefore fire, 
fire ; cast on no water. 21 

Curt. Is she so hot a shrew as she's re- 
ported ? 

G7-U. She was, good Curtis, before this 
frost : but, thou knowest, winter tames man, 
woman and beast ; for it liath tamed my old 
master and m^^ new mistress and myself, fel- 
low Curtis. [no beast. 

Curt. Away, you three-inch fool ! I am 

Gru. Am I but three int'hes ? why, thy 
horn is a foot ; and so long am I at the least. 
But wilt thou make a fire, or shall I complain 
on thee to our mi.5tress, whose hand, she being 
now at hand, thou shalt soon feel, to thy cold 
comfort, for being slow in thy hot office"? 

C^irt. I prithee, good Grumio, tell me, how 
goes the world ? 

Gru. A cold world, Curtis, in every office 
but thine ; and therefore fire : do thy duty, 
and have thy duty ; for my master and mistress 
are almost frozen to death. 40 

Curt. There's fire ready ; and therefore, 
good Grumio, the news. 

Gru. Why, ' Jack, boy ! ho ! boy ! ' and as 
much news as will thaw. 

Curt. Come, you are so fuU of cony-catch- 
ing ! 

Gru. Why, therefore fire ; for I have caught 
extreme cold. Where's the cook ? is supper 
ready, the house trimmed, rushes strewed, 
cobwebs swept ; the serving-men in their new 
fustian, their white stockings, and every officer 
his wedding-garment on ? Be the jacks fair 
within, tlie jills fair without, the carpets laid, 
and every tiling in order ? 

Curt. All ready ; and therefore, I praj^ thee, 
news. 

Grit. First, know, my horse is tired ; my 
master and mistress fallen out 



Curt. How ? 

Gru. Out of their saddles into the dii-t ; and 
thereby hangs a tale. Q0 

Curt. Let's ha't, good Grumio. 

Gru. Lend thine ear. 

Curi. Here. 

Gru. There. [S(7-ikes hirn, 

Curt. This is to feel a tale, not to hear d, 
tale. 

Gru. And therefore 'tis called a sensible 
tale : and this cuff was but to knock at your 
ear, and beseech listening. Now I begin : 
Imprimis, we came down a foul hill, my master 
riding behind my mistress, — 70 

Curt. Both of one horse ? 

Gru. What's that to thee ? 

Curt. Why, a horse. 

Gru. Tell thou the tale : but hadst thou not 
crossed me, thou shouldst have heard how her 
horse fell and she under her horse ; tliou 
shouldst have heard in how miry a place, how- 
she was bemoiled, how he left her Avith the 
horse upon her, how he beat me because her 
horse stumbled, how she waded through the 
dirt to pluck him off me, how he swore, how 
she iirayed, that never prayed before, how I 
cried, how the horses ran away, how her 
bridle was burst, how I lo.st my crupper, with 
many tilings of worthy memory, wliich now 
shall die in oblivion and thou return unexiieri- 
enced to thy grave. [than she. 

Curt. By this reckoning ho is more shrew 

Gru. Ay ; and that tluiu and the proudest 
of you all shall find when he comes home. 
But what talk I of this ? Call forth Nathaniel, 
Joseph, Nicholas, Pliilip, Walter, Sugarsop and 
the rest : let their heads be sleelcly combed, 
their blue coats brushed and their garters o£ 
an indifferent knit : let them curtsy with their 
left legs and not presume to touch a hair of 
my master's horse-tail till they kiss their hands. 
Are they all ready ? 

Curt. They are. 

Gru. Call "them forth. 

Curt. Do you hear, ho ? you must meet my 
master to countenance my mistress. 101 

Gru. Why, she hath a face of her own. 

Curt. Who knows not that ? 

Gru. Thou, it seems, that calls for com- 
l^any to countenance her. 

Curt. I call them forth to credit her. 

Gru. Why, she comes to borrow nothing oi 
them 

Enter four or five Serving-men. 

Nath. Welcome home, Grumio ! 

Phil. How now, Grumio ! 110 

Jos. What, Grumio ! 

Nich. Fellow Grumio ! 

Nath. How now, old lad ? 

Gru. Welcome, you ; — liow now, you ; — 
what, you ; — fellow, you ; — and thus much for 
greeting. Now, my spruce companions, is afl 
ready, and all things neat ? 

Nath. All things is ready. How near is our 
master ? 119 



ScEXK I.] 



THE TAMING OT THE SHRETf. 



499 



Grn. E'en at haucl, alighted by tliis ; and 
therefore be not — Cock's passion, silence ! I 
hear my master. 

Elite}' Petruchio and Katharina. 

Pet. Where be these knaves ? AVhat, no 
man at door 
'I'o hold my stirrup nor to take my horse ! 
AVhere is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip? 
All Ser-v. Here, here, sir ; here, sir. 
Fet. Here, sir ! here, sir ! here, sir ! here, 
sir ! 
You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms ! 
What, no attendance ? no regard ? no duty ? 
Where is the foolish knave I sent before ? 130 
Grn. Here, sir ; as foolish as I was before. 
Pet. You peasant swain ! you whoreson 
mait-hor.^e drudge ! 
Did I not bid thee meet me in the park. 
And bring along these rascal knaves with 
thee? 
Gru. Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully 
made, 
And Gabriel's pumps were all unpink'd i' the 

heel ; 
There was uo link to color Peter's hat. 
And Walter's dagger was not come from 

sheathing : 
There were none fine but Adam, Ealph, and 

Gregory ; 
The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly ; 140 
Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet 
you. 
Pet. Go, rascals, go, and fetch my supper 
in. [Exerint Sen-ants. 

[Siiifjitu/] Where is the life that late I led— 
Where are tliose— Sit down, Kate, and wel- 
come. — 
Soud, soud, soud, soud ! 

Re-enter Servants loith supper. 

Why, when, I say ? Nay, good sweet Kate, be 

merry. 
Off with my boots, you rogues ! you villains, 

when ? 
[Sinews] It was the friar of orders grey, 

As he forth walked on his way : — 
Out, you rogue ! you pluck my foot awry : IjO 
Take'that, and mend the plucking off the 

other. {Strikes him. 

Be merrv, Kate. Some water, here ; what, 

ho'! 
Where's my spaniel Troilus ? Sirrah, get you 

hence, 
And bid my cousan Ferdinand come hither : 
One, Kateli that you must kiss, and be ac- 
quainted with. 
WTiere are my slippers ? Shall I have some 

water ? 

Enter one with vxitcr. 
Come, K.ate, and wash, and welcome heartily. 
You whoreson villain ! will you let it fall ? 

[Strikes hi)ii. 
Kath. P.atience, I pray you ; 'twas a fault 
unwilliDg. 



Pet. A whoreson beetle-headed, flap-ear'd 
knave ! 160 

Come, Kate, sit down ; I know you have a sto- 
mach. 
AYill you give thanks, sweet Kate ; or else 

'shall I ? 
What's this ? mutton ? 
First Serv. Aj*. 

Pet. Who brought it? 

Peter. I, 

Pet. 'Tis burnt ; and so is all the meat. 
What dogs are these ! Where is the rascal 

cook ? 
How durst you, villains, bring it from the 

dresser. 
And serve it thus to mo that love it not ? 
There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all ; 
[Throws the meat, &e. about the stage. 
You heedless joltheads and unmanner'd 

slaves ! 
What, do you grunible ? I'll be with you 
straight. 170 

Kath. I pray you, husband, be not .so dis- 
quiet : 
The meat was well, if you were so contented. 
Pet. I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried 
away ; 
And I expressly am forbid to touch it, 
For it engenders choler, j)lanteth anger ; 
And better 'twere that both of us did fast, 
Since, of ourselves, ours<!lves are choleric, 
Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh. 
Be patient ; to-morrow 't shall be mended. 
And, for this night, we'll fast for company: 180 
Come, I will bruig tliee to thy bridal chamber. 

[Exetint. 

Re-enter Servants severally. 
Nath. Peter, didst ever see the like ? 
Peter. He kills her in her own humor. 

Re-enter Curtis. 
Gru. Where is he ? 

Curt. In her chamber, making a sermon 
of contineucy to her ; 
And rails, and swears, and rates, that she, 

poor soul, 
Knows not which waj' to stand, to look, to 

speak, 
And sits as one new-risen from a dream. 
Away, away ! for he is coming hither. 200 

[Exeunt 

Re-enter Petruchio. 
Pet. Thus have I politicly begun my reign, 
And 'tis my hope to end successfully. 
My falcon iiow is sharp and passing empty ; 
And till she stoop she must not be full-gorged, 
For then she never looi.s upon her lure. 
Another way I have to man my haggard. 
To make her come and know her keeper's 

call. 
That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites 
Tliat bate and beat and will not be obedient. 
She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat : 
Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall 

not; 



500 



TUS TAMm& OP TBE BBREW. 



[Act IV. 



As with the rae.it, some undeserved fault 
I'll find about the makmcj of the bed ; 
And here I'll fling the pillow, there the bol- 
ster. 
This way the coverlet, another way the 

sheets : 
Ay, and amid this hurly I intend 
That all is done in reverend care of her ; 
And in conclusion she shall watch all night : 
And if she chance to nod I'll rail and brawl 
And with the clamor keep her still awalce. 220 
This is a way to kill a wife with kindness ; 
And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong 

humor. 
He that knows better how to tame a shrew. 
Now let him speak : 'tis charity to show. 

{Exit. 

ScKNE II. Padua. Before Baptista's house. 
Enter Tranio and Hortensio. 
Tra. Is't possible, friend Licio, that Mis- 
tress Bianca 
Doth fancy any other but Lucentio ? 
I tell j'ou, sir, she bears me fair in hand. 

Tlor. Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said, 
Stand by and mark the manner of his teach- 
ing. 
Enter Bianca and Lucentio. 
Luc. Now, mistress, profit you in what you 

read ? 
Bian. What, master, read you ? first re- 
solve me that. 
Luc. I read that I profess, the Art to Love. 
Bian. And may you j^rove, sir, master of 

your art ! 

Luc. While you, sweet dear, prove mistress 

of my heart ! 10 

Ilor. Quick proceeders, marry ! Now, tell 

me, I pray. 

You that durst swear that your mistress 

Bianca 
Loved none in the world so well as Lucentio. 
Tra. despiteful love ! uncoustant woman- 
Irind! 
I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful. 

Hor. Mistake no more : I am not Licio, 
Nor a musician, as I seem to be ; 
But one that scorn to live in this disguise, 
For such a one as leaves a gentleman. 
And makes a god of such a cullion : 20 

Know, sir, that I am call'd Hortensio. 

Tra. Signior Hortensio , I have often heard 
Of your entire affection to Bianca ; 
And since mine eyes are witness of her light- 
ness, 
I will with you, if you be so contented, 
Forswear Bianca and her love for ever. 
Hor. See, how they kiss and court! Signior 
Lucentio, 
Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow 
Never to woo her more, but do forswear her, 
As one unworthy all the former favors 30 

That i have fondly flatter'd her withal. 

Tra. And here I take the like unfeigned 
oatU, 



Never to marry with her though she would 

entreat : 
Fie on her ! see, how beastly she doth court 
him ! 
Hor. Would all the world but he had quite 
forsworn ! 
For me, that I may surely keep mine oath, 
I will be married to a wealthy widow. 
Ere three days pass, which hath as long loved 

me 
As I have loved this proud disdainful hag- 
gard. 
And so farewell, Signior Lucentio. 40 

Kindness in women, not their beauteous 

looks, 
Shall win my love ; and so I take my leave. 
In resolution as I swore before. [Exit. 

Tra. Mistress Bianca, bless you with such 
grace 
As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case ! 
Nay, I have ta'en you napping, gentle love. 
And have forsworn yon with Hortensio. 
Bian. Tranio, you jest : but have you both 

forsworn me ? 
Tin. Mistress, we have. 
Luc. Then we are rid of Licio. 

Tra. r faith, he'll have a lusty widow now. 
That shall be woo'd and wedded in a day. 51 
Bian. God give him joy ! 
Tra. Ay, and he'll tame her. 
Bian. He says so, Tranio. 

Tra. Faith, he is gone imto the taming- 

school. 
Bian. The taraing-school ! what, is there 

such a place ? 
Tra. Ay, mistress, and Petruchio is the 
master ; 
That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long, 
To tame a shrew and charm her chattering 
tongue. 

Enter Biondello. 
Bion. master, master, I have watch'd so 
long 
That I am dog-weary : but at last I spied 60 
t An ancient angel coming down the hill, 
Will serve the turn. 

Tra. What is he, Biondello ? 

Bion. Master, a mercatanie, or a pedant, 
I know not what ; but formal in apparel. 
In gait and countenance surely like a father. 
Luc. And what of him, Tranio ? 
Tra. If he be credulous and trust my tale, 
I'll make him glad to seem Vincentio, 
And give assurance to Baptista Mmola, 
As if he were the right Vincentio. 70 

Take in your love, and then let me alone. 

[Exeunt Lucentio and Bianca. 
Enter a Pedant, 
Fed. God save you, sir ! 
Tra. And you, sir ! you are welcome. 

Travel you far on, or are you at the farthest ? 
Ped. Sir, at the farthest for a week or two : 
But then up farther, and as far as Rome ; 
And so to Tripoli, if God lend me life. 
Tra. What countryman, I pray ? 



Scene hi.] 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



601 



Fed. Of Mantua. 

Tra. Of Mantua, sir ? marry, God forbid ! 
And come to Padua, careless of your life ? 

Fed. My life, sir 1 how, I pray ? for that 
goes hard. SO 

Tra. 'Tis death for any one in Mantua 
To come to Padua. Know you not the cause ? 
Your ships are stay'd at Venice, and the 

duke, 
For private quarrel 'twixt your duke and hira, 
Hath publish'd and proclaira'd it openly : 
*Tis marvel, but that you are but newly come. 
You might have heard it else proclaim'd 
about. 

Fed. Alas ! sir, it is worse for me thau so ; 
For I have bills for money by exchange 
From Florence and must here deliver them. 90 

Tra. Well, sir, to do you courtesy. 
This will I do, and this I will advise you : 
First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa ? 

Fed. Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been, 
Pisa renowned for grave citizens. 

Tra. Among them know you one Vin- 
centio ? 

Fed. I know him not, but I have heard of 
him ; 
A merchant of incorajiarable wealth. 

Tra. He is my father, sir ; and, sooth to 

say, 99 

In countenance somewhat doth resemble you. 

Bion. [Aside'] As much as an apple doth 
an oyster, and all one. 

Tra. To .save your life in this extremitj% 
This favor will I do you for liis sake ; 
And think it not the worst of all your for- 
tunes 
That you are like to Sir Vincentio. 
His name and credit shall you undertake, 
And in my house you shall be friendly lodged: 
Look that you take upon you as you should ; 
You understand me, sir : so shall you stay 
Till you have doue your business in the city : 
If this be courtesy, sir, accept of it. Ill 

Fed. O sir, I do ; and will repute you ever 
The patron of my life and liberty. 

Tra. Then go with me to make the matter 
good. 
This, by the way, I let you understand ; 
My father is here look'd for every day, 
To pass assurance of a dower in marriage 
'Twixt me and one Bai)tista's daughter here : 
In all these circum,«tances I'll instruct you : 
Go with me to clothe you as becomes you. 120 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. A room in Petkuchio's house. 

Enter Katharina and Gkumio. 

Crvu. No, no, forsooth ; I dare not for my 

life. 
Kath. The more my -wrong, the more his 
spite appears : 
What, did he marry me to famish me ? 
Beggars, that come unto my father's door, 
Upon entreaty have a present alms ; 
If not, elsewhere they meet with chfirity : 



But I, who never knew how to entreat. 
Nor never needed that I should entreat. 
Am starved for meat, giddy for lack of sleep. 
With oaths kept waking and with brawling 
fed : 10 

And that which spites me more than all these 

wants, 
He does it under name of perfect love ; 
As who should say, if I should sleep or eat, 
'Twere deadly sickness or else present death. 
I prithee go and get me some repast ; • 
I care not wliat, so it be wholesome food. 
Gru. AVliat say you to a neat's foot ? 
Kath. 'Tis passing good : I prithee let me 

have it. 
Gru. I fear it is too choleric a meat. 
How say you to a fat tripe finely broil'd ? 20 
Kath. I like it well : good Grumio, fetch 

it me. 
Gru. I cannot tell ; I fear 'tis choleric. 
What say you to a piece of beef and mustard? 
Kath. A dish that I do love to feed upon. 
Gru. Ay, but the mustard is too hot a lit- 
tle. 
Kath. Why then, the beef, and let the mus- 

tiird rest. 
Gru. Nay then, I will not : you shall have 
the mustard. 
Or else you get no beef of Grumio. 
Kath. Then both, or one, or any thing thou 

wilt. 
Gru. Why then, the mustard without the 
beef. 30 

Kath. Go, get thee gone, thou false delud- 
ing slave, [Beats him. 
That feed'st me with the very name of meat : 
Sorrow on thee and all the pack of you, 
That triumph thus upon my misery ' 
Go, get thee gone, I say. 

Enter Petkuchio and Hoktensio with meat. 

Fct. How fares my Kate? What, sweet- 
ing, all amort ? 
JTor, Mistress, what cheer ? 
Kath. Faith, as cold as can be. 

Fet. Pluck up thy spirits ; look cheerfully 
upon me. 
Here, love ; thou see'st how diligent I am 39 
To dress thy meat myself and bring it thoe : 
I am sure, sweet Kate, tliis kindness merits 

thanks. 
What, not a word ? Nay, then thou lovest it 

not ; 
And all my pains is sorted to no proof. 
Here, take away this dish. 
Kath. I pray you, let it stand. 

Fet. The poorest service is repaid with 
thanks ; 
And so shall mine, before you touch the meat. 
Kath. I thank you, sir. 
Hor. Signior Pctruchio, fie ! you are to 
blame. 
Come, Mistress Kate, I'll bear you company. 
Fet. [Aside] Eat it up all, Hortensio, if 
thou lovest me. 50 

JIuch good do it unto thy gentle heart ! 



602 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



[Act ir« 



Kate, eat apace : and now, my honey love, 
Will we return unto thy father's house 
And revel it as bravely as the best, 
With silken coats and caps and golden rings, 
With ruffs and cuffs and fardingales and 

things ; 
With scarfs and fans and double change of 

bravery. 
With amber bracelets, beads and all this 

knavery. 
What, hast thou dined ? The tailor stays thy 

leisure, 59 

To deck thy body with his ruffling treasure, 

Enter Tailor. 

Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments ; 
Lay forth the gown. 

Enter Haberdasher. 

What news with you, sir ? 
Hah. Here is the cap your worship did 

bespeak. 
Pet. Why, this was moulded on a porrin- 
ger ; 
A velvet dish : fie, fie ! 'tis lewd and filthy : 
Why, 'tis a cockle or a walnut-shell, 
A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap : 
Away with it ! come, let me have a bigger. 
Kath. I'll have no bigger : this doth fit the 
time, 
And gentlewomen wear such caps as these. 70 
Pet. Wlien you are gentle, you shall have 
one too, 
And not till then. 
Ilor. [yls/de] That will not be in haste. 
Kath. Why, sir, I trust I may have leave to 
speak ; 
And speak I will ; I am no child, no babe : 
Your betters have endured me .'^ay mj mind. 
And if you cannot, best you stop your ears. 
My tongue will tell tlie anger of my heart, 
Or else my heart concealing it will break. 
And rather than it shall, I will be free 
Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words. 
Pet. Why, thou saj-'st true ; it is a paltry 
cap, 81 

A custard-coffln, a bauble, a silken pie : 
I love thee well, in that thou likept it not. 
Kath. Love me or love me not, I like the 
cap ; 
And it I will have, or I will have none. 

[E.cit J Iciber dasher. 

Pet. Thy gown ? why, ay : come, tailor, 

let us see't. 

O mercy, God ! what masquing stuif is here ? 

Wluit's this ? a sleeve ? 'tis like a demi- 

caunon : 
What, up and down, carved like an apple- 
tart? 
Here's snip and nip and cut and slish and 
slash, 90 

Like to a censer in a barber's shop : 
Why, what, i' devil's name, tailor, call' st thou 
this ? 
Mor. [Aside] I see she's like to have neither 
cap nor gowu. 



Tai. You bid me make it orderly and well. 
According to the fashion and the time. 
Pet. Marry, and did ; but if you be remem' 
ber'd, 
I did not bid you mar it to the time. 
Go, hop me over every kennel home, 
For you shall hop without my custom, sir : 99 
I'll none of it : hence ! make your best of it. 

Kath. I never saw a better-f ashion'd gown, 
More quaint, more pleasing, nor more com- 
mendable : 
Belike you mean to make a puppet of me. 
Pet. Why, true ; he means to make a pup- 
pet of thee. 
Tai. She says your worship means tomake 
a puppet of her. 

Pet. monstrous arrogance ! Thou liest, 
thou thread, thou thimble. 
Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, 

nail ! 
Thou Ilea, thou nit, thou winter-cricket thou ! 
Braved in mine own house with a skein of 

thread ? 
Away, thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant ; 
Or I shall so be-raete thee with thy yard 
As thou shalt think on jprating whilst thou 

livest ! 
I tell thee, I, that thou hast marr'd her gown. 
Tai. Your worship is deceived ; the gown 
is made 
Just as my master had direction : 
Grumio gave order how it should be done. 
Gru. I gave him no order ; I gave him the 

stuff. 
Tai. But how did you desire it should be 
made ? 120 

Gru. Marry, sir, with needle and thread. 
Tai. But did you not request to have it 

cut? 
Gru. Thou hast faced many tilings. 
Tai. I have. 

Grit. Face not me : thou hast braved many 
men ; brave not me ; I will neither be faced 
nor braved. I say unto thee, I bid thy master 
cut out the gown ; but I did not bid him cut it 
to pieces : ergo, thou liest. 

Tai. Why, here is the note of the fashion 
to testif v. 131 

l^et. 'Read it. 

Grn. The note lies in's throat, if he say I 

said so. [gown:' 

Tai. [Reads] ' Imprimis, a loose-bodied 

Grii. Master, if ever 1 said loose-bodied 

gown, sew me in Ihe skirts of it, and beat me 

to death with a bottom of brown thread : I 

said a gown. 

Pet. Proceed. 

Tai. [Reads] ' With a small compassed 
cape :' HO 

Gru. I confess the cape. 
Tai. [Reads] ' With a trunk sleeve : 
Gru. I confess two sleeves. 
Tai. [Reads] ' The sleeves curiously cut.' 
Pet. Ay, there's the viUany. 
G)-H.. Error i' the bill, sir ; error i' the bill, 
I commanded the sleeves should be cut ou^ 



Scene iv.] 



THE TAMING OF THE STTIiEW. 



505 



and sewed up iigniu ; and that I'll prove upon 
thee, though thy little finger be armed in a 
thimble. 

Tai. This is true that I say : an I had thee 
in place where, thou shouldst know it. 151 

Gru. I am for thee straiglit : take thou the 
bill, give me thy mete-j-ard, and spare not me. 

Ilor. God-a-mercy, Grumio ! then he shall 
liave no odds. 

Pet. Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for 
me. [mi.stress. 

Gru. You are i' the right, sir : 'tis for my 

Pet. Go, take it up unto thy master's use. 

Gni. Villain, not for thy lil'e : take up my 
mistress' gown for thy master's use ! 161 

Pet. AVliy, sir, what's your conceit in that ? 

Grii. O, sir, the conceit is deeper than you 
think for : [use ! 

'Take up my mistress' gown to his master's 
< O, fie, fie, fie ! 

Pet. [Aside] Horteusio, say thou wilt see 
the tailor j^aid. 
Go take it hence ; be gone, and say no more. 

-Ifor. Tailor, I'U paj- thee for thy gown to- 
morrow : 
Take no unkindness of liis hasty words : 
■ Awav ! I say ; commend metothyma.ster. 170 

[Exit Tailor. 

Pet. Well, come, my Kate ; we will unto 
your father's 
Even in these honest mean habiliments : 
Our ]nirses shall be proud, our garments poor ; 
For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich ; 
And as the sun breaks through the darkest 

clouds. 
So honor peereth in the meanest habit. 
What is the jay more jirecious than the lark, 
Because his feathers are more beautiful ? 
Or is the adder better than the eel, 
Because his painted skin contents the eye ? ISO 
O, no, good Kate ; neither art thou tlie worse 
For this poor furniture and mean array. 
If thou account'st it shame, lay it on me ; 
And therefore frolic : we will hence foithwith, 
To feast and sport us at thy father's house. 
^Go, call my men, and let us straight to hiin ; 

\nd bring our horses unto Long-lane end : 
f^here will we mount, and thither walk on 

foot 
let's see ; I think 'tis now some seven o'clock. 
And well we may come therfe by dinner-time. 

Kath. I dare assure you, sir, 'tis almost two; 
And 'twill be supper-time ere you come there. 

Pit. It shall be seven ere I go to horse : 
Look, what I speak, or do, or think to do, 
You are still crossing it. Sirs, left alone: 
1 will not go to-day ; and ere I do. 
It shall be what o'clock I say it is. 

IIoi: [Aside] Why, so this gallant will com- 
mand the sun. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Padua. Before B.vptist.i's house. 
Enter Tranio, and the Pedant dressed like 

VrN-CEj\'TIO. 

Tra. Sir, this is the house : please it you 
JtUatlcaU? 



Ped. Ay, what else ? and but I be deceived 
Signior Baptista may remember me, 
Near twenty years ago, in Genoa, 
Where we were lodgers at the Pegasus. 

Tra. 'Tis well ; and hold your own, iu any 
case. 
With such austerity as 'longeth to a father. 

Ped. I warrant you. 

Enter Biondello. 
But, sir, here comes your boy ; 
'Twere good he were school' d. 

Tra. Fear you not him. Sirrah Biondcllo, 
Now do your duty throughly, I advise you : 11 
Imagine 'twere the right Vincentio. 
Pion. Tut, fear not me. 
Tra. But hast thou done thy errand to 

Baptista ? 
BioH. I told him that your father was at 
Veince, 
And that you look'd for him this day in Padua. 
Tra. thou'rt a tall fellow : hold thee that 
to drink. 
Here comes Baptista : set your countenance, 
sir. 

Enter Baptista and Lucentio. 

Signior Baptista, you are happily met. 
[To the Peda7it] Sir, this is the gentleman I 
told you of : 20 

I pray you, stand good father to me now, 
Give me Bianca for my patrimony, 

Ped. Soft, son ! 
Sir, by your leave : having come to Padua 
To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio 
Made me acquainted with a weighty cause 
Of love between your daughter and himself : 
And, for the good report I hear of you 
And for the love he bearetli to your daughter 
And she to him, to stay him not too long, 30 
I am content, in a good father's care. 
To have him match'd ; and if you please to 

like 
No worse than I, upon some agreement 
Me shall you find ready and willing 
With oiic con.sent to have her so bestow'd ; 
For curious I cannot be with you, 
Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well. 

Bap. Sir, pardon me in Avhat I have to-say : 
Your plainness and your shortness please me 

well. 
Right true it is, your son Lucentio here 40 
Both love my daughter and she loveth him, 
Or both dissemble deeply their affectit)ns : 
And therefore, if you say no more than this, 
That like a father you will deal with him 
And pass my daughter a sufficient dower, 
Tlie match is made, and all is done : 
Your son shall have my daughter with con- 
sent. 
Tra. I thank you, sir. Wliere then do you 
know best 
AVe be affled and such assurance ta'en 
As shall with either pai-t's agreement stand ? 
Bap. Not in my house, Lucentio • for, you 
know, 61 



504 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



[Act IV. 



Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants ; 
Besides, old Gremio is hearkening still ; 
And happily we might be interrupted. 

Tra. Tlien at my lodging, an it like you : 
There doth my father lie ; and there, this 

night, 
We'll pass the business privately and well. 
Send for your daughter by your servant liere : 
My boy shall fetch the scrivener presently. 
The worst is this, that, at so slender warning. 
You are like to have a thin and slender 
pittance. 61 

Bap. It likes me well. Bioudello, hie you 
home, 
And bid Bianca make her ready straight ; 
And, if you will, tell what hatli happened, 
Lucentio's father is arrived in Padua, 
And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife. 
Bion. I pray the gods she may with all my 

heart ! 
Tra. Dally not with the gods, but get thee 
gone. {^Exit Bion. 

Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way ? 
Welcome ! one mess is like to be your cheer : 
Come, sir ; we will better it in Pisa. 71 

Bap. I follow you. 

\_Excunt Tranio, Pedant, and Baptista. 

Re-enta- Biondello. 

Bion. Cambio ! 

Luc. What sayest thou, Biondello ? 

Bion. You saw my master wink and laugh 
upon you ? 

Luc. Biondello, what of that ? 

Bion. Faith, nothing ; but has left meliere 
behind, to expound the meaning or moral of 
his signs and tokens. SO 

IjUC. I pray thee, moralize them. 

Bion. Then thus. Baptista is safe, talking 
■with the deceiving father of a deceitful son. 

Luc. And what of him ? 

Bion. His daughter is to be brought by you 
to the supper. 

Luc. And then ? 

Bion. The old priest of Saint Luke's chiiroh 
is at your command .at all hours. 

Luc. And what of all this ? 00 

Bion. I cannot tell ; expect tliey are busied 
about a counterfeit assunmce: take you 
assurance of her, ' cum privilegioad imprimen- 
dum solum:' to the church ; take the priest- 
clerk, and some sufficient honest witnesses : 
If this be not th.at you look for, I have no more 

to say, 
But'bid Bianca farewell for ever and a day. 

Luc. nearest thou, Biondello ? 

Bion. I cannot tarry : I Ivuew a wench mar- 
ried in an afternoon as she went to the garden 
for parsley to stuff a rabbit ; and so may you, 
sir : and so, adieu, sir. My master hath a])- 
pointed me to go to Saint Luke's, to bid the 
jiriest be ready to come against you come ■with 
your appendix. ' [E.iu't. 

Luc. I may, and will, if she be so contented: 
She will be pleased ; then wherefore should I 
doubt ? 



Hap what hap may, I'll roundly go about her : 
It shall go hard if Cambio go without her. 

[Exit. 

Scene V. A public road. 

Enter Petruchio, Kathakina, Hortensio, 
and Servants. 
Pet. Come on, i' God's name ; ouce more 
toward our father's. 
Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the 
moon ! 
Kath. The moon ! the sun : it is not moon- 
light now. [bright. 
Pet. I say it is the moon that shines so 
Kath. I know it is the sun that shines so 
bright. [myself, 
Pet. Now, by my mother's son, and that's 
It shall be moon, or star, or what I list. 
Or ere I journey to your father's house. 
Go on, and fetch our horses back again. 
Evermore cross' d and cross' d ; nothing but 
cross'd ! 10 
Hor. Say as he says, or ■we shall never go. 
Kath. Forward, I pray, since we have 
com.e so far. 
And be it moon, or sun, or what you please : 
An if you please to call it a rush-candle. 
Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me. 
Pet. I say it is the moon. 
Kedh. I know it is the moon. 
Pet. Nay, then you lie : it is the blessed 
sun. [sun : 
Kath. Then, God be bless'd, it is the blessed 
But sun it is not, when you say it is not ; 
And the moon changes even as your mind. 20 
What you will have it named, even that it is ; 
And so it shall be so for Katharine. 
Hor. Petruchio, go thy ways ; the field is 

i won. 
Pet. Well, forward, forward ! thus the bowl 
should run. 
And not unluckily agamst the bias. 
But, soft ! company is coming here. 

Enter Vincentio. 
[ToVincentio.'] Good morrow, gentle mistress : 

where away ? 
Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me trul j' too. 
Hast thou beheld .a fresher gentlewoman ? 
Such war of white and red within lier cheeks! 
What stars do spangle heaven with such 
beauty, 31 

As those two eyes become that heavenly face? 
Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee. 
Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's 
sake. 
Hor. A' will make the man mad, to make 
a woman of him. 
Kath. Yc)ung budding virgm, fair and fresh 
and sweet. 
Whither away, or where is thy abode ? 
Happy the parents of so fair a child ; 
Happier the man, whom favorable stars 40 
Allot thee for his lovely bed-fellow ! 
Pet. Why, how now', Kate ! I hope thou ait 
not mad : 



Scene i.] 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



505 



This is a man, old, ■wrinkled, faded, wither' d, 
And not a maiden, as thoa say'st he is. 
Kalh. Pardon, old father, my mistaking 
eyes. 
That have been so bedazzled with the sun 
That everything I look on seemeth green : 
Now I perceive thou art a reverend father ; 
Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking. 
Pet. Do, good old grandsire ; and withal 
make known 50 

"Which way thou travellest : if along with us. 
We shall be joyful of thy company. 

I7«. Fair sir, and you my merry mistress. 
That with your strange encounter much amaz- 
ed me, 
My name is call'd Vincentio ; my dwelling 

Pisa ; 
And bound I am to Padua ; there to visit 
A son of mine, which long I have not seen. 
Pet. What is his name ? 
Yin. Lucentio, gentle sir. 

Pet. Happily met ; the happier for thy son. 
And now by law, as well as reverend age, 60 
1 may entitle thee my loving father : 
The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman, 
Tliy son by this hath married. Wonder not, 
Nor be not grieved : she is of good esteem. 
Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth ; 
Beside, so qualified as may beseem 
The spouse of any noble gentleman. 
Let me embrace with old Vincentio, 
And wander we to see thy honest son. 
Who will of thy arrival be full joyous. 70 

Vin. But is' this true ? or is 'it else your 
pleasure, 
like pleasant travellers, to break a jest 
U])on the company you overtake ? 
llor. I do assure thee, father, so it is. 
Pet. Come, go along, and see the truth 
hereof ; 
For our first meniment hath made thee jeal- 
ous. [E.i-eu)d all but Ilortensio. 
Ilor. Well, Petruchio, this ha^ put me in 
heart. 
H.'ive to my widow ! and if she be fi-oward. 
Then hast' tliou taught Hortensio to be un- 
toward. [_Exit. 



ACT Y. 



ScKNK I. Padua. Before LrrcENTio'S house. 

Gre>iio discovered. Enter behind Biondello, 
Lucentio, and Bianca. 
Bion. Softly and .-swiftly, sir ; for the priest 
is re.ady. 

Luc. I fly, Biondello : but they may chance 
to need thee at home ; therefore leave us. 

Bion. Nay, faith, I'll see the church o' your 
back ; and then come back to my master's as 
soon as I can. 

[Exeunt Lucentio, Bianca, and Biondello. 
Gre. I mars^el Cambio comes not all this 
while. 

£nter Petruchio, Kathakixa, Vincentio, 
Gbumio, with Attendants. 



Pet. Sir, here's the door, this is Lucentio' s 
house : 
Jly father's bears more toward the market- 
place ; 10 
Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir. 
Vin. You shall not choose but drink before 
you go : 
I thinlv I shall command your welcome here, 
And, by all likelihood, some cheer is toward. 

[Knocks. 
Gre. They're busy within ; you were best 
knock louder. 

Pedant looks out of the ivindow. 

Ped. What's he that knocks as he would 
beat down the gate ? 

I'm. Is Signior Lucentio within, sir ? 

Ped. He's witnin, sir, but not to be spoken 
withal. 

17)1. "Wliat if a man bring him a hundred 
pound or two, to make merry withal ? 

Ped. Keep your hundred poinids to your- 
self : he shall need none, so long as I live. 

Pet. Nay, I told you your son was well be- 
loved in Padua. Do you hear, sir ? To leave 
frivolous circumstances, I pray you, tell Sig- 
nior Lucentio that his father is come from 
Pisa, and is here at the door to speak with 
him. SO 

Ped. Thou liest : his father is come from 
Padua and here looking out at the window. 

Vin. Art thou his father ? 

Ped. Ay, sir ; so his mother says, it I may- 
believe her. 

Pet. [To Vincentio] Why, how now, gen- 
tleman ! why, thin is flat knavery, to take 
ujion you another man's name. 

Ped. Lay hands on the villain : I believe 
a' means to cozen somebody in this city under 
my countenance. 41 

Re-enter Biondello. 

Bion. I have seen them in the church to- 
gether : God send 'em good sliip])ing ! But 
who is here ? mine old master Vincentio ! 
now we are undone and brought to nothing. 

Vin. [Seeing Biondello] Come hither, crack- 
hemp. 

Bion. I hojie J may choose, sir. 

Vin. Come hither, you rogue. What, havf> 
you forgot me ? 50 

Bion. Forgot you ! no, sir : I could not for- 
ixet you, for I never saw you before in all my 
'life. 

Vin. What, vou notorious villain, didst 
tliou never see thy master's father, Vincentio? 

Bion. What, my old worshiijful old ina.s- 
ter ? yes, marry, sir : see where he looks out 
of the window. 

T7;i. Is't so, indeed. [Beats Biondello. GO 

Bion. Help, help, help ! here's a madman 
will murder me. [Exit. 

Ped. Help, son ! help, Signior Bapti.'sta ! 
[Exit from above. 

Pet. Prithee, Kate, let's stand aside and 
see the end of this controversy. [They retire. 



£06 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



[Act r. 



Re-enter Pedant below; Tkanio, Baptista, 
aiid Servants. 

Tra. Sir, what are you that offer to beat 
my servant ? 

Via. What am I, sir ! nay, what are you, 
sir? O immortal gods! O fine villain! A 
eilken doublet I a velvet liose ! a scarlet cloak! 
and a copatain liat ! O, I am undone I I ana 
undone ! while I play the good husband at 
home, my sou and my servant spend all at the 
university. 

Tra. How now ! what's the matter ? 

Bap. What, is the man lunatic ? 

Tra. Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentle- 
man by your habit, but your words show you 
a madman. Why, sir, Avhat 'cerns it you if I 
wear pearl and gold ? I thank my good father, 
1 am able to maintain it. 79 

Vin. Thy lather ! villain ! he is a sail- 
maker iu Bergamo. 

Bap. You mistake, sir, you mistake, sir. 
Pray, what do you think is his name ? 

Vin. His name ! as if I knew not his name : 
I have brought him up ever since he was three 
years old, and his name is Trauio. 

Fed. Away, away, mad ass 1 his name is 
Lucentio ; and he is mine only son, and heir 
to the lands of me, Siguior Viucentio. 89 

Vin. Lucentio I 6, he hath murdered his 
master ! Lay hold ou him, I charge you, in 
the duke's name. O, my son, my son ! Tell 
me, thou villain, where is my sou Lucentio ? 

lYa. Call forth an officer. 

Enter one with an Officer 
Carry this mad knave to the gaol. Father Bap- 
tista, I charge you see that he be forthcoming. 

Vin. Carry me to the gaol ! 

Gre. Stay, officer : he shall not go to prison. 

Bap. Talk not, Signior Gremio : I say he 
sliall go to prison. 100 

Gre. Take heed, Signior Baptista, lest you 
be cony-catched in this business : I dare swear 
this is the right Viucentio. 

Fed. Swear, if thou darest. 

Gre. Nay, I dare not swear it. 

Tra. Then thou wert best say thati am not 
Lucentio. " [centio. 

Gre. Yes, I know thee to be Signior Lu- 

Bap. Away with the dotard ! to the gaol 
with him ! 110 

Vin. Thus strangers may be hailed and 
abused : O monstrous villain ! 

Re-enter Biondello, vnth Lucentio and 

BlANC.\. 

Bion. O ! we are spoiled and — yonder he 
Is : deny him, forswear him, or else we are ail 
undone. 

Ia<.c. [^Kneeling'] Pardon, sweet father. 

Vin. Lives my sweet son? 

[Exeunt Biondello, Tranio, and Pedant, 

as fast as may he. 

Skin. Pardon, dear father. 

Bap. How hast thou offended ? 

Where is Lnoentlo t 



Luc. Here's Lucentio, 

Right son to the right Viucentio ; 
That have by marriage made thy daughtsr 

miue, 
While counterfeit supposes blear'd thine eyne 
Gre. Here's packing, with a witness tode 
ceive us all ! 

Vin. Where is that damned villain Tranio 
That faced and braved me iu this matter so ? 
Bap. Why, tell me, is not this my Cam bio T 
Bian. Cambio is changed into Lucentio. 
Luc. Love wrought these miracles. Bianca'i 
love 
Made me exchange ray state with Tranio, 
While he did bear my countenance in th& 

town ; 
And happily I have arrived at the last 13C 
Unto the wished haven of my bliss. 
What Tranio did, myself enforced him to ; 
Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake. 

Vin. I'll slit the villain's nose, that would 
have sent me to the gaol. 

Bap. But do you hear, sir? have you mar- 
ried my daughter without asking my good will ? 
Vin. Fear not, Baptista ; we will content 
vou, go to: but I will in, to be revenged for 
this villany. [Exit. 140 

Bap. And I, to sound the depth of this 
knavery. [Exit. 

Lue. Look not pale, Bianca ; thy father 
will not fi-own. [Exeunt Lucentio and Bianca. 
Gre. My cake is dough ; but I'll in among 
the rest, 
Out of hope of all, but my share of the feast. 

[Exit. 
Kath. Husband, let's follow, to see the end 

of this ado. 
Pet. First kiss me, Kate, and we will. 
Katli. Wiiat, in the midst of the street ? 
Pet. What, art thou ashamed of me ? 1.5(1 
Kath. No, sir, God forbid ; but ashamed 

to kiss. 
Pet. Why, then let's home again. Come, 

pirrnh, let's away. 
Kath. Nay, I will give thee a kiss: now 
pray thee, love, stay. [Kate : 

Pet. Is not this well ? Come, my sweet 
Better once than never, lor never too late. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. Padua, Lucentio's house. 
Enter Baptista, Vincentio, Gremio, the 
Pedant, Lucentio, Bianca, Petkuchio, 
Katharina, Hoktensio, aiuJ Widow, 
Tranio, Biondello, and, Gruimio: the b'cr- 
ving-men vjith Tranio brinr/'ii;/ in. a. banquet, 
Luc. At last, though long, o'.ir jarring notes 
agree : 
And time it is, when raging war is done. 
To smile at scapes and perils overblown. 
My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome, 
While 1 with self-same kindness welcome 

t'xine. 
Brothel Petruchio, sister Katharina, 
And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow, 
Feast with the best, and welcome to my house: 



Scene i.] 



TEE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



50? 



My banquet is to close our stomachs up, 
After our great good cheer. Pray you, sit 

down ; 10 

For now we sit to chat as well as eat. 
Pet. Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and 

eat ! 
Bap. Padua affords this kindness, son 

Petruchio. [kind. 

Pet. Padua affords nothing but what is 
Hor. For botli our sakes, I would tliat word 

were true. [widow. 

Pet. Now, for my life, Hortensio leiirs his 
Wicl. Then never trust me, if I be afeard. 
Pet. You are very sensible, and yet you 

miss my sense : 
I mean, Hortensio is afeard of you. 

Wid. He tliat is giddy thinks the world 

turns round. 20 

Pet. Roundly replied. 
Kath. Mistress, how mean you that ? 

Wid. Thus I conceive by him. 
Pet, Conceives by me ! How likes Hor- 
tensio that ? 
Hor. My widow says, thus she conceives 

her tale. 
Pet. Very well mended. Kiss him for that, 

good widow. 
Kath. ' He that is giddy thinks the world 

turns round : ' 
I pray you, tell me what you meant by that. 
Wid. Your husband, being troubled with a 

shrew, 
Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe : 
And now you know my meaning. 30 

Kuth. A very mean meaning. 
Wid. Right, I mean you. 

Kath. And I am mean indeed, resi>ecting 

you. 
Pet. To her, Kate ! 
Hor. To her, widow ! 
Pet. A hundred marks, my Kate does put, 

her clown. 
Hor. Tliat's my office. 
Pet. Spoke like an officer ; ha' to thee, lad ! 
[^Drink.'i to Ilorterniio. 
Bap. How likes Gremio these quick-witted 

folks ? [well. 

Gre. Believe me, sir, they butt together 
Bian. Head, and butt ! an hasty-witted 

body 
Would say your head and butt were head and 

horn. 
Vin. Ay, mistress bride, hath that a\vaken'd 

you ? 
Bian. Ay, but not frighted me ; therefore 

I'll sleep again. 
Pet. Nay, that you shall not : since you 

have begun. 
Have at you for a bitter jest or two ! 
Bian. Am I your bird ? I mean to siiiii. 

my bush ; 
And then pursue me as you draw your bow. 
You are welcome all. 

[^Exeunt Bianca, Katharina, and Widoijo. 
Pet. She hath prevented me. Here, Siguior 

Trawo. 



This bird you aim'd at, thongh you hit her 

not ; 50 

Therefore a health to all that shot and miss'd. 

Tra. 0, sir, Lucentio slipp'd me like his 
greyhound. 
Which runs himself and catches for his master. 

Pet. A good swift simile, but souietliing 
currish. [.self : 

Tra. 'Tis well, sir, that you hunted for your- 
'Tis thought your deer does hold you at :<. bay. 

Bap. 6 ho, Petruchio ! Tranio hit.^ you 
now. 

Lxic. I thank thee for tliat liivA, good Tranio. 

Hor. Couiess, confess, luitk henot liit you 
here ? 

Pet. A' has a little gall'd me, I confess ; 60 
And, as the jest did glance away from me, 
'Tis ten to one it mahn'd you two outright. 

Bnp. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio, 
I think thou hast the veriest shrew of all. 

Pet. Well, I say no : and therefore for as- 
surance 
Let's each one send unto his wife ; 
And he wliose wife is most obedient 
To come at first when he doth send for her. 
Shall win the wager which we will pro])ose. 

Jlor. Content. What is the wager ? 

Luc. Twenty crowns. 70 

Pet. Twenty crowns ! 
ril venture so much of my hawlc or hound, 
But twenty times so mucli npon my wife. 

Luc. A hundred then. 

Ilor. Content. 

Fet. A match ! 'tis done. 

Hor. Who shall begin ? 

Lnc. That will I. 

Go, Biondello, bid your mistress come to me. 

Bion. I go. [Exit. 

Bap. Son, Pll be your half, Bianca comes. 

Lvc. I'll have no halves ; I'll bear it all 
myself. 

Re-enter Biondki.i.o. 
How now ! what news ? 

Bion. Sir, my mistress sends you word 
That she is busy and she cainiot come. 

Pet. How ! she is busy and she cannot cornel 
Is that an answer ? 

Ore. Ay, and a kind one too : 

Pray God, sir, your wife send you not a worse. 

Pet. I hope, better. [wife 

Hor. Sirrah Biondello, go and entreat my 
To come to me forth witli. [E.i-it Bion. 

Pet. 0, ho ! entreat her I 

Nay, then she must needs come. 

ilor. I am afraid, sir, 

Do wliat you can, yours will not be entreated. 

Re-enter Biondello. 
Now, Where's my wife ? 90 

Bion. She says you have some goodly jest 
in hand : 
She will not come : she bids you come to her 

Pet. Worse and worse ; she will not come! 
O vile, 
Intolerable, not to be endured ! 
Sirrah Grumio, go to your mistress ; 



608 



THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 



[ACTT 



Say, I command her to come to me. 

{Exit Grumio. 
Hor. I know her answer. 
Pet. What ? 

Hor, She will not. 

Pet. The fouler fortune mine, and there au 

end. 
Bap. Now, by my holidame, here comes 
Katharina ! 

He-enter Katharina. 
Kath. What is your will, sir, that you send 
for rae ? 100 

Pet. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's 

wife? 

Kath. They sit conferring by the parlor fire. 

Pet. Go fetch them hither : if they deny to 

come. [bands : 

Swinge me them soundly forth unto their hus- 

Away, I say, and bring them hither straight. 

[Exit Katharina. 

Luc. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a 

wonder. 
Hor. And so it is : I wonder what it bodes. 
Pet. Man-y, peace it bodes, and love and 
quiet life, 
And awful rule and right supremacy; 
And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and 
hapiiy ? 110 

Bap. Now, fair befal thee, good Petruchio! 
The wager thou hast won ; and I will add 
Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns ; 
Another dowry to another daughter, 
For she is changed, as she had never been. 

Pet. Nay, I will win my wager better yet 
And show more sign of her obedience, 
Her new-built virtue and obedience. 
See where she conies and brings your froward 

wives 

As prisoners to her womanly persuasion. 120 

Re-enter Katharina, vnth Bianca and 

Widow. 

Katharina, that cap of yours becomes you not : 

Oif with tliat bauble, throw it under-foot. 

Wid. Lord, let me never have a cause to sigh, 
rill I be brought to such a silly pass ! 
Bian. Fie ! what a foolish duty call you 

this ? 
Luc. I would your duty were as foolish too : 
flie wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca, 
Hath cost me an hundred crowns since supper- 
time, [duty. 
Bian. The more fool you, for laying on my 
Pet. Katliarine, I charge thee, tell these 
headstrong women loO 
What duty they do owe their lords and hus- 
bands. 
Wid. Come, come, you're mocking : we 

will have no telling. 
Pet. Come on, I say; and first begin with 

her. 
Wid. She shall not. 
^et. I say she shall : and first begin with 

her. 
Kath. Fie, fie 1 unknit that threatening un- 
kind brow. 



And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, 
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor : 
It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads, 
Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair 

buds, 140 

And in no sense is meet or amiable. 
A woman moved is like a fountain troubled, 
Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty; 
And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty 
Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it. 
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, 
Thy head, thy sovereign ; one that cares for 

thee. 
And for thy maintenance commits his body 
To ijainful labor both by se? and land. 
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold. 
Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and 

safe ; 151 

And craves no other tribute at thy hands 
But love, fair looks and true obedience ; 
Too little payment for so great a debt. 
Such duty as the subject owes the prince 
Even such a woman oweth to her husband ; 
And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour, 
And not obedient to his honest will. 
What is she but a foul contending rebel 
And graceless traitor to her loving lord ? IGO 
I am ashamed that women are so simple 
To offer war where they should kneel for peace, 
Or seek for rule, sui)remacy and sway, 
Wlieu they are ijound to serve, love and obey. 
W ny are our bodies soft and weak and smooth, 
Unapt to toil and trouble in the world. 
But tliat our soft conditions and our hearts 
Should well agree with our external parts ? 
Come, come, you froward and unable worms . 
My mind liath been as big as one of yours, 170 
My heart as great, my reason haply more. 
To bandy word for word and frown for frown ; 
But now I see our lances are but straws, 
Our strength as weak, our weakness past com- 
pare. 
That seeming to be most which we indeed least 

are. 
Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot, 
And place your hands below your husband's 

foot : 
In token of which dutj'^, if he please, 
]My hand is ready; may it do him ease. 
Pet. Wliy, there's a wench ! Come on, and 

kiss me, Kate. 180 

Luc. Well, go thy ways, old lad ; for tlioii 

shalt ha't. [toward. 

Vin. 'Tis a good hearing when children are 
Luc. But a harsh hearing when women are 

froward. 
Pet. Come, Kate, we'll to bed. 
We three are married, but you two are sped. 
[To iwc] 'Twas I won the wager, though you 

hit the white; 
And, being a winner, God give you good night 
{Exeunt Petruchio and Katharina 
Hor. Now, go thy ways; thou hast tamed 

a curst shrew. 
Luc. 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she 

will bQ tanked so- [ExiiutU- 



THE 

MEERY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 

(WRITTEX ABOUT 1598.) 

INTRODUCTION. 

This is an offshoot from the comedy of King Henry 1 1'., while King Henry V. is the direct contin- 
uation of the history. Dennis, in 170:i, report's a tradition that this play was written in fourteen 
days, by order of tlic Queen p and Kowe adds : " She was so well pleased with that admirable charac- 
ter of Falstaff, in the two parts otHtfiir;/ J J'., that she commanded him to continue it for one play more, 
and to show him in love." This may have been the cause why Shakespeare does not fulfill the prom- 
ise made in tlie Epilogue of W--»/;/ ^ '., that FalstafE should re-appear with Henry V. in France; 
but, indeed, among the great deedsof the victor of Agincourt there would be small room for a Fal- 
stalf. The choice of Windsor as the scene, and the compliments to the owner of Windsor Castle, 
and to the wearers of the Order of the Garter, suggest that the play was meant especially for Eliza- 
beth and her courtiers. An early sketch of TheMirrii Wii\sv.'i\s published in quarto, 1602; some 
touches in the play, as given in the folio, were evidently made after the accession of James I. (1603) ; 
the word " council is altered to " king" (Act 1., Sc. I., L. 113) ; '• these knights will hack," exclaims 
Mrs. Page (Act II., Sc i., L. 52), and the allusion to James's too liberal creation of knights in 1604 was 
probably appreciated. Some critics have held that the tirst sketch of The Mtir;/ Wires was written 
as early as 1592. A German duke is spoken of by Bardolph as about to visit %\ ind^or, and his gen- 
tlemen ride olf with mi;ie hostof the Garter's horses unpaid for. In the eaily sketch (Act IV., Sc. v., 
of the revised play), instead of " cousin-germans," where Evans puns upon tho words cozinand G«-r- 
7«a/!, occurs the strange •' co>en garmombles." Now. Count Frederick of Mtimpelgard had visited 
England and acc<unpanied the Queen to Windsor, Aug. 1592 ; and in the passport which he received 
for his journey baek to the ( ontinent, we read that he shall be furnished w ith j.ost-horses, and shall 
pay nothing for llio same. Next year the Count became Duke of AVirlemberg, and in l.WS he craved 
that, in accordance with a promise given, Elizabeth would confer upon him the Order of the Garter, 
which Elizabeth, on various pretexts, declined. " Garmombles" obviously reverses the true name 
" Mompelgard ;" but tli«.' inference that the d.ate of the play is 1502, because it refers to the visit of 
the Germans, is unwarrantable, for such an event would be remembered, and the more so because of 
the Duke's subsequent unavailing attempt to obtain the honor of the Garter. If we try to make out 
exact relations between the chariieters of The Mem/ Wires and the same char.acters as they appear 
in the historical plays, we shall fail. The comedy has a certain independence of the histories, and 
cannot be pieced on' to them in any way : the persons are the same and not the same. INIrs- Quickly, 
servant of Dr. Caius, has a dilTerent history from the I\lrs. Quickly of tho Boar's Head Tavern. Nor 
is Falstaff conceived in quite the same manner as the Falstaff of Henry I i'. Here the knight la 
fatuous, his genius deserts him ; the never-defeated hangs his head before two country dames ; the 
buck-basket, the drench of Thames water, the blows of Ford's cudgel, are reprisals too coarse upon 
the most inimitable of jesters. Yet the play is indeed a merry one. with well-contrived incidents 
and abundance of broad mirth. A country air breathes over the whole ; nowhere else has Shake- 
speare represented English middle-class life in the coui'try, and he has here done it with a vigorous, 
healthv pleasure. It is not, however, a poetical plav, imless comely English maidenhood, in the 
person of pretty Anne Page, lend ic something of poetry. There is a propriety in the fact that this 
comedy is wiitten almost wholly in prose. The merry wives are a delightful pair, with " their sly 
laughing looks, their apple-red cheeks, their brows the lines whereon look more like the work of 
mirth than of years ;" and Slender, most brainless of youths, most incapable of lovers, is dear for 
sake of the laugh at him which pretty Anne Page must have when alone. Altogether, il we can 
accept FalstafE's discomHtures, it is a merry play to laugh at if not to love. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Sir John Falstafb 
Fenton, a gentleman. 
Shallow, a country justice. 
Sl'E^'D£B, cousin to Shallow, 



Ford, ) ^^^ gentlemen dwelling at Windsor. 

William Paoe, a boy, son to Page. 
Sir Hugh Evans, a Welsh parson. 
(50^ 



610 



THE MERRY WIVES OE WINDSOR. 



f Act I. 



Doctor Carts, a French physician. 

Host of the Garter Inn. 

Bakdolth, ) 

Pistol, > sharpers attending on FalstafE- 

Nym, ) 

Robin, page to Falstaff. 

Simple, servant to Slender. 

Rugby, servant to Doctor Caius. 



Mistress Ford. 

Mistress Page, 

Anne Page, her daughter. 

Mistress Quickly, servant to Doctor C^us» 

Servants to Page, Ford, &c. 

Scene : Windsor, and the neighborhood. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. Windsor. Before Page's house. 

Enter Justice Shallow, Slender, and Sib 
Hugh Evans. 

Shal. Sir Hugh, persuade me not ; I will 
make a Star-chamber matter of it : if he were 
twent.v Sir John Falstaffs, lie shall not abuse 
Robert Shallow, esquire. 

Slen. In the county of Gloucester, justice of 
peace and ' Coram.' 

Shal. Ay, cousin Slender, and * Custa- 
lorum.' 

Slen. Ay, and ' Rato-lorum ' too ; and a 
gentleman born, master parson ; who writes 
himself ' Armigero,' in any bill, warrant, quit- 
tance, or obligation, ' Armigero.' 11 

Shal. Ay, that I do ; and have done any 
time these three hundred years. 

Slen. All his successors gone before him 
hath doiie't ; and all his ancestors that come 
after liim may : they may give the dozen white 
luces in tlieir coat. 

Shal. It is an old coat. 

Evans. The dozen white louses do become 
an old coat well ; it agrees well, passant ; it is 
a familiar beast to man, and signifies love. 21 

Shal. The luce is the fresh fish ; the salt 
fish is au old coat. 

Slen. I may quarter, coz. 

SJial. You may, by marrying. 

Evans. It is marring indeed, if he quarter 
it. 

Shal. Not a whit. 

Evans. Yes, py'r lady ; if he has a quarter 
of your coat, there is but three skirts for your- 
self, in my simple conjectures : but that is all 
one. If Sir John Falstaff have committed dis- 
paragements unto you, I am of the church, 
and will be glad to do my benevolence to make 
atonements and compremises between you. 

Shal. The council shall hear it ; it is a riot 

Evans. It is not meet the council hear a 
riot ; there is no fear of Got in a riot : the 
council, look you, shall desire to hear the fear 
of Got, and not to hear a riot ; take your viza- 
ments in that. 

Shal. Ha ! o' my life, if I were young again, 
the sword should end it. 41 

Evans. It is petter that friends is the sword, 
and end it : and there is also another device 
in my prain, which peradventure prings goot 
discretiops with it : ^eie is Anne Page, which 



is daughter to Master Thomas Page, which is 
pretty virginity. 

Slen. Mistress Anne Page ? She has brown 
hair, and speaks small like a woman. 

Evans. It is that fery person for all the 
Olid, as just as you will desire ; and seven 
hundred pounds of moneys, and gold and sil- 
ver, is her grandsire upon his death's-bed — 
Got deliver to a joyful resurrections I — give, 
when she is able to overtake seventeen yearsi 
old : it were a goot motion if we leave our 
pribbles and prabbles, and desire a marriage 
between Master Abraham and Mistress Anne 
Page. 

Slen. Did her grandsire leave her seven 
hundred pound ? 60 

Evans. Ay, and her father is make her a 
petter penny. 

Slen. I know the young gentlewoman ; she 
has good gifts. 

Evans. Seven hundred pounds and possi- 
bilities is goot gifts. 

Shal. Well, let us see honest Master Page. 
Is Falstaff there ? 

Evans. Shall I tell you a lie ? I do despise, 
a liar as I do despise one that is false, or as I 
despise one that is not true. The knight. Sir 
John, is there ; and, I beseech you, be ruled 
by your well-wiUers. I will peat tlie door for 
Master Page. [Knocks.} 

What, hoa ! Got pless your house here 1 

Page. [Within] Who's there ? j 

Enter Page. 

Evans. Here is Got's plessing, and your 
friend, and Justice Shallow ; and here young 
Master Slender, that peradventures shall tell 
you another tale, if matters grow to your lik- 
ings. 

Page. I am glad to see your worships well. 
I thank you for my venison, Master Shallow. 

Shal. Master Page, I am glad to see you : 
much good do it your good heart ! I wished 
your venison better ; it was ill killed. How 
doth good Mistress Page ? — and I thank you 
always with my heart, la ! with my heart. 

Page. Sir, I thank you. 

Shal. Sir, I thank you ; by yea and no, I 
do. 

Page. I am glad to see you, good Master 
Slender. 90 

Slen. How does your fallow greyhound, 
sir ? I heard say he was outrun on CotsalU 

Page. It could not be judged, sir. 

Sl&^ You'll not confess, you'll not confeHk 



ScMKE I.] 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



611 



Shal. That he will not. 'Tis your fault, 
'tis your fault ; 'tis a good dog. 

Faye. A cur, sir. 

Shal. Sir, he's a good dog, and a fair dog : 
cau there be more said ? he is good and fair. 
Is Sir Jolm Falstaff here ? 100 

Pa;je. Sir, he is within ; and I would I 
could do a good office between you. 

Erans, It is spoke as a Christians ought to 
speak. 

Shal. He hath wronged me, Master Page. 

Page. Sir, he doth in some sort confess it. 

Shal. If it be confessed, it is not redress'd: 
Is not that so, Master Page ? He hath wronged 
me ; indeed he hath ; at a word, he hath, be- 
lieve me : Robert Shallow, esquire, saith, he 
is wronged. 110 

Fage. Here comea Sir John. 

Untei- SiK John Falstaff, Bakdolph, Nym, 
and Pistol. 

Fal. Now, Master Shallow, you'll com- 
plain of me to the king ? 

Shal. Knight, you have beaten my men, 
killed my deer, and broke open my lodge. 

Fal. But not kissed your keeper's daugh- 
ter? 

Shal. Tut, a pin ! this shall be answered. 

Fal. I will answer it straight ; I have done 
all this. 
Tliat is now answered. 

Shal. The council shall know this. 120 

Fal. 'Twere better for you if it were known 
in counsel : you'll be laughed at. 

Ei-ans. Pauca verba, Sir John ; goot worts. 

Fal. Good worts ! good cabbage. Slender, 
I broke your head : what matter have you 
against me ? 

.S7e/;. Marry, sir, I have matter in my head 
against you ; and against your cony-catching 
lascals, Bardolph, Nym, and Pistol. 

Bavd. You Banbury cheese ! 130 

Slen. Ay, it is no matter. 

Fist. How now, Mephostophilus ! 

.Slen. Ay, it is no matter. 

Nym. Slice, I say ! pauca, pauca : slice ! 
*Qiat's my humor. 

Slen. Where's Simple, my man ? Can j'ou 
tell, cousin ? 

Evans. Peace, I pray yon. Now let us un- 
derstand. There is three umpires in this mat- 
ter, as I understand ; that is. Master Page, 
fidelicet Master Page ; and there is myself, 
fidclicet myself \ and the three partj' is, lastly 
and finally, mine host of the Garter. 

Pane. We three, to hear it and end it bc- 
tw^een them. 

Evans. Fery goot : I will make a prief of 
it in my note-book ; and we will afterwards 
ork upon tlie cause with as great discreetly as 
we can. 

Fal. Pistol ! 

Fist. He hears with ears. 150 

Evans. The tevil and his tam ! what phrase 
is this, ' He hears with ear' ? why, it is affec- 
tations 



Fal. Pistol, did you pick Master Slender's 
purse ? 

Slen. Ay, by these gloves, did ho, or I 
would I might never come in mine own great 
chamber again else, of seven groats in iiiill- 
sixpences, and two Edward shovel-boards, 
that cost me two shilling and two pence a- 
piece of Yead Miller, bv these gloves, 161 

Fal. Is this true. Pistol ? 

Evans. No ; it is false, if it is a pick-purse. 

Fist. Ha, thou mountain-foreigner! Sit 
John and Master mine, 
I combat challenge of this latten bilbo. 
Word of denial ui thy labras here .' 
Word of denial : froth and scum, thou liest ! 

Skn. By these gloves, then, 'twas he. 

Nipn. Be avised, sir, and pass good hu- 
mo}s : I will say ' marry trap ' with you, if 
you run the nuthook's humor on me ; that is 
the very note of it. 

Slen.' By this hat, then, he in the red face 
had it ; for though 1 caimot remember what I 
did when you made me drunk, yet I am not 
altogether an ass. 

Fal. \\\\a.t say you, Scarlet and John ? 

Bard. Why, sir, for my pait, I say the gen- 
tleman had drunk himself out of his five sen- 
tences. ISO 

Evans. It is his five senses : fie, what the 
ignorance is ! 

Bard. And being fap, sir, was, as they say, 
cashiered ; and so conclusions passed the 
careires. 

Slen. Ay, you spake in Latin then too ; lait 
'tis no matter : I'll ne'er be drunk wiiil.st I live 
again, but in honest, civil, godly company, for 
this trick: if I be drunk, I'll be drnn.k with 
tho.se that have the fear of God, and not with 
drunken knaves. li'O 

Evans. So Got udge me, that is a virtuous 
mind. 

Fal. You hear all these matters denied, 
gentlemen ; you hear it. 
Enter AjryE Page, loith wine ; Mistress 
Ford and Mistress Page, folloicing. 

Page. Nay, daughter, carry the wine in ; 
we'll drink within. [Erit Anne Page. 

Slen. O heaven ! this is jMistress Anne 
Page. 

Page. How now. Mistress Ford ! 

Fal. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are 

very well met : by your leave, good mistress. 

[Kisses her. 200 

Page. Wife, bid these gentlemen Avelconie. 
Come, we have a hot veni.son pasty to din- 
ner : come, gentlemen, 1 hope we shall drink 
down all unkindness. 

[E.reunt all excejit Shal., Slen., and Evans. 

Slen. I had ratlier than forty shillings 1 
had my Book of Songs and Sonnets here. 

Enter Simple. 
How now, Simple ! where have you been ? I 
must wait on myself, must I ? You have not 
the Book of Riddles about yon, have yon ? 

i^a. Book of Kiddles ! 'why, did you not 



m 



THE MEttHY WIVES OP WINDSOR 



fACT f. 



lend it to Alice Shortcaka tipon All-hallow- 
mas last, a fortnight afcre Micliaelmas 1 

Shal. Come, coz ; come, coz ; we stay for 
you. A word with yoa, coz ; marry, tliis, coz : 
there is, as 'twere, a tender, a liiud of tender, 
made afar off by Sir Hugh here. Do you un- 
derstand me ? 

Slen. Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable; 
if it be so, I sliall do that that is reason. 

Shal. Nay, but understand me. 

Slen. So I do, sir. 220 

Evans. Give ear to his motions. Master 
Slender : I will description the matter to you, 
if you be capacity of it 

Slen. Nay, I will do as my cousin Shallow 
eays : I pray you, pardon me ; he's a justice 
of peace in his country, simple though I stand 
here. 

Evans. But that isiiot the question : the 
question is concerning your marriage. 

Shal. Ay, there's the point, sir. 

Evans. Marry, is it ; the very point of it ; 
to Mistress Anne Page. 231 

Slen. Why, if it be so, I will marry her 
upon any reasonable demands. 

Evans. But can you affection the 'oman ? 
Let us command to know that of your nioutli 
or of your lips ; for divers philosophers hold 
that the lips is parcel of tlie mouth. There- 
fore, precisely, can you carry your good will 
to the maid ;' [love lier ? 240 

Shal. Cousin Abraham Slender, can yoa 

Slen. I hope, sir, I will do as it shall be- 
come one that would do reason. 

Evans. Nay, Got's lords and his ladies 1 
vou must speak possitable, if you can carry 
ner your desires towards her. 

Shal. That you must. Will you, upon 
good dowry, marry her ? 

Slen. I "will do a greater thing than that, 
upon your request, cousin, in any reason. 

Shal. Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet 
coz ; what I do is to pleasure you, coz. Can 
you love the maid ? 

Slen. I will marry her, sir, at your request : 
but if there be no great love in the beginning, 
yet heaven may decrease it upon better ac- 
quaintance, when we are married and have 
more occasion to know one another ; I hope, 
upon familiarity will grow more contempt : 
but if you say, ^ Marry her,' I will marry her; 
that I am freely dissolved, and dissolutely. 260 

Evans. It is a fery discretion answer ; 
eave the fall is in the ort ' dissolutely : ' the 
ort is, according to our meaning, ' resolutely : ' 
his meaning is good. 

Shal. Ay; I think my cousin meant well. 

Sle)i. Ay, or else I would I might be 
hanged, la I 

Shal. Here comes fair Mistress Anne. 

Re-enter Annb Page. 

Would I were young for your sake, Mistress 
Anne! 

Anne. The dinner Is on the table ; my 
lather desires your woxBbips' oompany, 271 



S7ial. I will wait on him, fair Mistress 
Anne. 
Evans. Od's plessed will i I will not be 

absence at the grace. 

[Exeunt Shallow and Evans 

Anne. Will't please your worship to come 
in, sir ? 

Slen. No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily ; 
I am very well. 

Anne. The dinner attends yon, sir. 

Slen. I am nota-hungry, Tthank you, for- 
sooth. Go, sirrah, for all you are my' man, go 
wait upon my cousin Shallow. [Exit Simple.] 
A justice of peace sometimes may be be- 
holding to his friend for a man. I keep but 
three men and a boy yet, till my mother be 
dead : but what though ? yet I live like a poor 
gentleman born. 

Anne. I may not go in without your wor- 
ship : they will not sit till you come. 

Slen. r faith, I'll eat nothing ; I thank 
you as much as though I did. 291 

Anne. I pray you, sir, walk in. 

Slen. I had rather walk here, I thank you. 
I bruised my shin th' other day with i)laying 
at sword and dagger with a master of fence ; 
three veneys for a dish of stewed prunes ;and, 
by my troth, I cannot abide the smell of hot 
meat since. Why do your dogs bark so ? be 
there bears i' the town ? 

Anne. I think there are, sir ; I heard them 
talked of. 301 

Slen. I love the sport well ; but I shall as 
soon quarrel at it as any man in England. 
You are afraid, if you see the bear loose, are 
you not ? 

Anne. Ay, indeed, sir. 

Slen. That's meat and drink to me, now. 
I have seen Sackerson loose twenty times, and 
have taken him by the chain ; but, I warrant 
you, the women have so cried and shrieked at 
it, that it passed : but women, indeed, cannot 
abide 'em ; they are very ill-favored rough 
things. 

Re-enter Page. 

Page. Come, gentle Master Slender, come; 
we stay for you. 

Slen. I'll eat nothing, I thank you, sir. 

Page. By cock and pie, you shall not 
choose, sir ! come, come. 

Slen. Nay, pray you, lead the way. 

Page. Come on, sir. 

Slen. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first. 

Anne. Not I, sir ; pray you, keep on. 321 

Slen. Truly, I will not go first ; truly, la I 
I will not do you that wrong. 

Anne. I pray you, sir. 

Slen. I'll rather be unmannerly than trou- 
blesome. You do yourself wrong, indeed, la I 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. The same 
Enter Sib Hugh Evans and Simple. 
Evans. Go your ways, and ask of Doc- 
tor Caius' ho'ise which is the way : and thext 



.SCEKE III.] 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



513 



dwells one Mistress Quickly, wliieh is in the 
manner of his nurse, or his dry nurse, or his 
cook, or his laundry, his washer, and liis 
wringer. 

Him. Well, sir. 

Erans. Nay, it is petter yet. Give lier this 
letter ; for it is a 'onuin that altogether's ac- 
quaintance with Mistress Anne Page : and the 
letter is, to desire and require her to solicit 
your master's desires 'to Mistress Anne Page. 
I pray you, be gone : 1 will make an end of 
my dinner ; there's pippins and cheese to 
come. \_Exeunt. 

Scene III. A room in the Garter Inn. 

Enter Falstaff, Host, Bardolph, Nym, 
Pistol, and Robin. 

Fed. Mine host of the Garter ! 

Host. What says uiy bully-rook ? speak 
scholarly and wisely. 

Fal. Truly, mine host, I must turn away 
some of my followers. 

Host. Discard, bully Hercules ; cashier : let 
them wag ; trot, trot. 

Fill. I sit at ten pounds a week. 

Host. Thou'rt an emjieror, Cicsar, Keisar, 
and Pheezar. I will entertain Pardolph ; he 
.-iliall draw, he shall tap : said 1 well, bully 
Hector ? 

F(d. Do so, good mine host. 

Jlost. I have spoke ; let him follow. [To 
lianl.] Let mo see thee froth and lime : I 
am at a word ; follow. [Ej-U. 

Fill. Bardolph, follow him. A tapster is a 
g<i('d trade : an old cloak makes a new jerkin; 
a withered serving-man afresh tapster. Go; 
adieu. 20 

Hard. It is a life that I have desired : I will 
thrive. 

Fist. O base Hungarian wight ! wilt thou 
the spigot wield? ^EfH Bardolph. 

y^ijni. He was gotten in drink : is not the 
humor conceited ? 

Fal. 1 am glad I am so acquit of this tin- 
dcrbo.K : his thefts were too oi)en ; his Hlching 
was like an unskilful singer ; he kept not time. 

A'(/;«. The good humor is to steal at a 
minute's rest. 31 

Fist. 'Convey,' the wise it call. 'Steal!' 
foil ! a fico for the phrase ! 

Fal. Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels. 

Pist. Why, then, let kibes ensue. 

Fal. There is no remedy ; I must cony- 
Ciitch ; I must shift. 

Pist. Young ravens must have food. 

Fal. Which of you know Ford of this town ? 

Pist. 1 ken the wight : he is of substance 
good. 41 

Fal. My honest lads, I will tell you what I 
am about. 

Pist. Two yards, and more. 

Fal. No quips now. Pistol ! Indeed, I am 
in the waist two yards about ; but 1 am now 
about no waste ; I am about thrift. Briefly, I 
do mean to make lovo to Ford's wile : I spy 



entertainment in her ; she discourses, she 
carves, she gives the leer of invitation : I can 
construe the action of her familiar style ; and 
the hardest voice of her behavior, to be Eng- 
lished rightly, is, ' 1 am Sir John Falstafl's.' 

Pist. He hath studied her will, and trans- 
lated her will, out of houe.sty into English. 

Nym. The anchor is deep : will that humor 
pass ? 

Fal. Now, the report goes she has all the 
rule of her husband's purse : he hath a legion 
of angels. GO 

Pist. As many devils entertain ; and ' To 
her, boy,' say 1. 

Nym. The humor rises ; it is good : humor 
me the angels. 

Fal. I have writ me here a letter to her : 
and here another to Page's wife, who even now 
gave me good eyes too, examined my parts 
with most judicious ceillades ; sometimes the 
beam of her view gilded my foot, sometimes 
my portly belly. 

Pist. Then did the sun on dunghill shine. 

Nym. I thank thee for that humor. 71 

Fal. O, she did so course o'er my exteriors 
with such a greedy intention, that the appetite 
of her eye did seem to scorch me up like a 
burning-glass ! Here's another letter to her: 
she bears the purse too ; she is a region in 
Guiana, all golcl and bounty. I will be cheater 
to them both, and they shall be exchequers to 
me ; they shall be my East and West Indies, 
and I will trade to them both. Go bear thou 
this letter to Mistress I'age ; and thou this to 
Mistress Ford : we will thrive, lads, we will 
thrive. 

Pist. Shall I Sir Pandarus of Troy become, 
And by my side wear steel ? then, Lucifer 
take aU ! 

Nym. I will run no ba.se humor : here, 
take the humor-letter : I will keep the havior 
of reputation. 

Fal. [ To Robin] Hold, sirrah, bear you these 
letters tightly ; 
Sail like my pinnace to these golden sliores. 
Rogues, hence, avauut ! vanish like hailstones, 

go ; 
Trudge, plod away o' the hoof ; seek shelter, 

pack I 
Falstaff will learn the humor of the age, 
French thrift, you rogues ; myself and skirted 
page. [Exeunt Falstaff arid Robin. 

Pist. Let vultures gripe thy giits ! for gourd 
and fuUam holds. 
And high and low beguiles the rich and poor : 
Tester I'll have in jiouch when thou shalt lack, 
Base Phrygian Turk ! 

Nym. I have operations which be humors 
of revenge. 

Pist. Wilt thou revenge ? 100 

Ni/m. I'y welkin and her stiir ! 

Pist. with wit or .vteel ? 

Nifm. With both the humors, I : 
I will discuss the humor of this love to Page. 

Pist. And I to Ford shall eke unfold 
How Falstaff, varlet vile, 
S3 



614 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



[Acf I. 



His dove will prove, his gold will hold, 
And his soft couch defile, 
Nym. My humor sliall uot cool : I will in- 
cense Page to deal witli poison ; I will possess 
t him with yellowness, for the revolt of mine 
is dangerous : that is my true humor. 

Pist. Thou art the Mars of malecontents : I 
second thee ; troop on. \_Exeunt. 

Scene IV. A room in Doctor Caius's house. 
Enter Mistress Quickly, Simple, and 

RUGBV. 

Quick. "What, John Rugby ! I pray ihee, 
go to the casement, and see if you can see my 
master, Master Doctor Caius, coming. If he 
do, i' faith, and tind any body in the house, 
here wi'l be an old abusing of God's ])atience 
and the king's English. 

Rug. I'll go watch. 

Quick. Go ; and we'll have a posset for't 
soon at night, in faith, at the latter end of a 
sea-coal fire. [Exit Ruf/bi/.] An honest, wil- 
ling, kind fellow, as ever servant shall come 
in house withal, and, I warrant you, no tell- 
tale nor no breed-bate : his worst fault is, 
that he is given to prayer ; he is something 
peevish that way : but nobody but has his 
fault ; but let that pass. Peter Simple, you 
say your name is ? 

Sim. Ay, for fault of a better. 

Quick. And Master Slender's j'our master? 

Sim. Ay, forsooth. 

Quick. Does he not wear a great round 
beard, like a glover's paring-knife ? 21 

Sim. No, forsooth : he hath but a little wee 
face, with a little yellow beard, a Cain-colored 
beard. 

Quick. A softly-sprighted man, is he not ? 

Sim. Ay, fors(joth : but he is as tall a man 
of his hands as any is between this and his 
head ; he hath fought with a warrener. 

Quick. How say you? 0, I should remem- 
ber him : does he not hold up his head, as it 
were, and strut in his gait ? 31 

Sim. Yes, indeed, does he. 

Quick. Well, heaven send Anne Page no 
worse fortune ! Tell Master Parson Evans I 
will do what I can for your master : Anne is a 
good girl, and 1 wish — 

Re-enter Rugby. 

Rug. Out, alas ! here comes my master. 

Quick. We shall all be sheut. Run in here, 
good young man ; go into this closet : he will 
not stay long. [Shuts Simple in the closet.] 
What, John Rugby ! John ! what, John, I say! 
Go, John, go inquire for my master ; I doubt 
he be not well, that he comes not home. 43 
[Singing] And down, down, adowu-a, &c. 
Enter Doctor Caius. 

Caiu.i. Vat is you sing ? I do not like des 
toys. Pray you, go and vetch me in my closet 
un boitier vert, a box, a green-a box : do 
intend vat I speak ? a green-a box. 
• ^uick. Ay, forgooth ; I'll fetch it you. 



[Aside] I am glad he went not in himself ; if 
he had found the young man, he would have 
been horn-mad. 62 

Caius. Fe, fe, fe, fe ! ma foi, il fait fort 
chaud. Je m'en vais a la cour — la grande 
affaire. 

Quick. Is it this, sir ? 

Caius. Oui ; mette le au mon pocket : de- 
peche, quickly. Vere is dat knave Rugby ? 

Quick. What, John Rugby ! John I 

Rug. Here, sir ! 

Cams. You are John Rugby, and you art* 
Jack Rugby. Come, take-a your rapier, and 
come after my heel to the court. 62 

Rug. 'Tis ready, sir, here in the porch. 

Caius. By my trot, I tarry too long. Od'a 
me ! Qu'ai-j'oublif ! dere is some simples in 
my closet, dat I vill not for the varld I shall 
leave behind. 

Quick. Ay me, he'll find the young man 
there, and be mad ! 

Cuius. diable, diable ! vat is in my closet? 
Villain ! lai'ron ! [Pulling Simi^le out.] Rugby, 
my rapier r 

Quick. Good master, oe content. 

Caius. Wherefore shall I be content-a ? 

Quick. "The young man is an honest man. 

Caius. What shall de honest man do in my 
closet? dere is no honest man dat shall come 
in my closet. 

Quick. I beseech you, be not so phlegmatic. 
Hear the truth of it : he came of an errand to 
me from Parson Hugh. 81 

Caius. Veil. 

Sim. Ay, forsooth ; to desire her to — 

Quick. Peace, I pray you. [tale. 

Caius. Peace-a your tongue. Speak-a youxr 

Sim. To desire this honest gentlewoman, 
your maid, to speak a good word to Mistress 
Anne Page for my master in the way of mar- 
riage. 

Quick. This is all, indeed, la ! but I'll ne'er 
put my finger in the tire, and need not. 91 

Cuius. Sir Hugh send-a you ? Rugby, bailie 
me some paper. Tarry you a little-a while. 

[ Writes. 

Quick. [Aside to Simple.] I am glad he ia 
so quiet : if he had been thoroughly moved, 
you should have heard him so loud and so 
melancholy. But notwithstanding, man, I'll 
do you your master what good 1 can : and the 
very yea and the no is, the French doctor, my 
master, — I may call him my master, look you, 
for I keep his house ; and 1 wash, wring, brew, 
bake, scour, dress meat and drink, make the 
beds, and do all myself, — 

Si7n. [Aside to Quickly] 'Tis a great charge 
to come under one body's hand. 

Quick. [Aside to Simple] Are you avised 
o' Jiat ? you shall find it a great charge : and 
to be up early aud down late ; but notwith- 
standing, — to tell you iu your ear ; I would 
have no words of it, — my master himself is in 
love with Mistress Anne Page : but notwith- 
standing that, I know Aone's mind,— that's 
J, neither nere nor there. 



Scene i.] 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



615 



Caius. You jack'nape, give-a this letter to 
Sir Hugh ; by gar, it is a shallenge : I will cut 
his treat in deei>ark ; and I will teach a scurvy 
jack-a-nape priest to meddle or make. You 
may be gone ; it is not good you tarry here. 
By gar, 1 will cut all his two stones ; by gar, 
he shall no* have a stoue to throw at his'dog. 
[Exit Simple. 

Qtdck. Alas, he speaks but for his friend. 

t'ltiu!^. It is no niatter-a ver dat : do not 
you tell-a me dat I shall have Anne Page for 
myself ? 15y gar, I \ ill kill de Jack priest ; and 
I have api>ointed mine host of de .larteer to 
measure our weapon. By gar, I will myself 
have Anne Page. 

(^iiiik. Sir, the maid loves you, and all sliall 
be well. \Ve must give folks leave to prate : 
what, the good-jer ! 

Vdiits. Rugby, come to the court with me. 
By gar, if I have not Anne Page, I shall turn 
your head out of my door. Follow my lieels, 
Rugby. [Edrennt Cains and Euf/hi/. 

Quirl,-. You shall have An fool's-head of 
your own. No, I know Anne's mind for that: 
never a woman in Wmdsor knows more of 
Anne's mind than I do ; nor can do more than 
I do with her. I thank heaven. 

Fenl. [ Within] Who's within there ? ho ! 

Quick. Who's there, I trow ! Come near 
the house, I pray you. 141 

Enter Fenton. 

Fenf. How now, good woman ! how dost 
thou ? 

Quirk. The better that it pleases your good 
worship to ask. 

Foit. What news ? how does pretty Mis- 
tress Anne ? 

Quirk. In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and 
honest, and gentle ; and one that is your 
friend, I can tell you that by the way ; I 
praise heaven for it. 151 

Fent. Shall I do any good, thinkest thou ? 
shall I not lo.se my suit? 

Quirk. Troth, sir, all is in his hands above : 
but notwithstanding, Master Fenton, I'll be 
sworn on a book, she loves you . Have not 
your worship a wart above your ej'e ? 

Fent. Yes, marry, have I ; what of that ? 

Quirk. Well, thereby hangs a tale : good 
faith, it is such anotlier Nan ; but, I detest, 
an honest maid as ever broke bread : we had 
an hour's talk of that wart. I shall never 
laugh but in that maid's company ! But in- 
deed she is given too much to allicholy and 
musing : but for you— well, go to. 

Fent. Well, I shall see her to-day. Hold, 
there's money for thee ; let me have thy voice 
in my behalf: if thou seest her before me, 
commend me. 

Quick. Will I? i' faith, that we will ; and I 
will tell your worship more of the wart the 
next time we have confidence ; and of other 
wooers. 

Fent. Well, farewell ; I am In great haste 
now. 



Quick. Farewell to your worship. [Exit 
Fenton.] Truly, an honest gentleman : but 
Anne loves him not ; fori know Anne's mind 
as well as another does. Out upon't! what 
have 1 forgot ? [Exit. 18G 



ACTIL 



Scene I. Be/ore Page's Iwust. 

Enter Mistress Page, ivith a letter. 

Mrs. Pn;/e. What, have I scaped love-let- 
ters in the holiday-time of my beauty, and 
am I now a subject for them ? Let me see. 

[ Reads. 
' Ask me no reason why I love you ; for 
though Love u.se Reason for his physician 
he admits him not for his counsellor. You 
are not young, no more am I ; go to then, 
there's symjiathy : you are merry, so am I ; 
ha, ha ! then there's more sympathy : you 
love sack, and so do I ; would you desire bet- 
ter sympathy ? Let it suffice thee, Mistress 
Page, — at the least, if the love of soldier can 
suffice, — that I love thee. I will not say, pity 
me ; 'tis not a soldier-like phrase : but I say, 
love me. By me. 

Thine own true knight. 

By day or niglit. 

Or any kind of light, 

AVith all his might 

For thee to fight, .John Falstaff.' 
What a Herod of Jewry is this ! O wicked, 
wicked world ! One that is well-nigh worn to 
pieces with age to show himself a young gal' 
lant ! What an unweighed behavior hath this 
Flemish drunkard picked — with the devil's 
name ! — out of my conversation, that he dares 
in this manner assay me ? Why, he hath not 
been thrice in my company ! What should I 
.'say to him ? I was then frugal of my mirth : 
Heaven forgive me! Why, I'll exhibit a bill 
in the parliament for the putting down of 
men. IIow shall I be revenged on him ? for 
revenged I will be, as sure as his guts are 
made of puddings. 

Enter Mistress Ford. 

Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page ! trust me, I was 
going to your house. 

Mrs. Paf/e. And, trust me, I was coming to 
you. You look very ill. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, I'll ne'er belicvn that ; I 
have to show to the contrary. 

Mrs. Pof/e. Faith, but vou do, in mv mind. 

Mrs. Ford. Well, I do tluni ; yet' I .say I 
could show you to the conti-ary. O Mistress 
Page, give me some counsel ! 

Mrs. Parje. What's the matter, woman ? 

Mr.9. Ford. O woman, if it were not ff)r one 
trifling respect, I could come to such lionor ! 

j\Irs. Patje. Hang the trifle, woman ! take 
the honor. What is it ? dispense with trifles; 
what is it ? 



616 



THE MEliRY WIVES OF WINDSOTL 



(Act if. 



Mrs. Ford. If I would but go to hell for an 

eternal moment or so, I could be knighted. 60 

Mrs. Pat/c. What? thou liestl Sir Alice 

Ford ! These knights will hack ; and so thou 

shouldst not alter the article of thy gentry. 

Mrs. Ford. We bum daylight : here, read, 
read ; perceive how I might be knighted. I 
shall think the worse of fat men, as long as 1 
have an eye to make difference of men's lik- 
nig : and yet he would not swear ; praise.J 
women's modesty ; and gave such orderly ami 
well-behaved reproof to all uncomeliness, tliat 
I would have sworn his disposition would have 
gone to the truth of his words ; but they do 
no more adhere and keep place together than 
the Hundredth Psalm to the tune of 'Green 
Sleeves.' What tempest, I trow, tlirew this 
whale, with so many tuns of oil in his belly, 
ashore at Windsor ? How shall I be revenged 
on him ? I thiuk the best way were to enter- 
tain him with hope, till the wiCked fire of lust 
have melted him in his own grease. Did you 
ever hear the like ? 70 

Mrs. Page. Letter for letter, but that tlie 
name of Page and Ford differs ! To thy great 
comfort in this mystery of ill opinions, here'M 
tlie twin-brother of thy letter : but let thine 
inherit first ; for, I protest, mine never shall. 
I warrant he hath a thousand of these letters, 
writ with blank space for different names, — 
sure, more,— and these are of the second edi- 
tion : he will print them, out of doubt ; for 
he cares not what he puts into the press, when 
he would put us two. I had rather be a giant- 
ess, and lie under Mount Pelion. Well, I will 
find you twenty lascivious turtles ere one 
chaste man. 

]\Irs. Ford. Why, this is the very same ; 
the very hand, the very words. What doth 
he think of us ? 

Mrs. Parje. Nay, I know not : it makes me 
almost ready to wrangle with mine own hon- 
esty. I'll entertain myself like one that I am 
not acquainted withal ; for, sure, unless he 
know some strain in me, that I know not my- 
self, he would never have boarded me in this 
fury. 

Mrs. Ford. ' Boarding,' call you it ? I'll be 
sure to keep him above deck. 

Mrs. Paar. So will I : if he come under my 
hatches, I'll never to sea again. Let's be re- 
venged on him : let's appoint him a meeting ; 
give him a show of comfort in his suit and 
lead liim on with a fine-baited delay, till he 
hath pawned his horses to mine host of the 
Garter. 100 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, I will consent to act any 
villany against hiui, that may not sully the 
chariness of our honesty. O, that my husband 
saw tliis letter ! it would give eternal food to 
bis jealousy. 

Mrs. Page. Why, look where he comes ', 
and my good man too : he's as far from jeal- 
ousy as f am from giving him cause ; and that 
.1 hope is an unmeasurable distance. 

^s. Ford. You are the happier wuiaau.110 



Mrs. Page. Let's consult together against 
this greasy knight. Come hither. [They retire. 

Enter Ford loith Pistol, and Page with 
Nym. 

Ford. "Tell, I hope it be not so. 

Pitt. Mope is a curtal dog in some affairs '. 
•^^j John affects thy wife. 

Ford. Why, sir, my wife is not young. 

Pist. He wooes both high and low, both 
rich and poor, 
Both young and old, one with another, Ford ; 
He loves the gallimaufry : Ford, perpend. 

Ford. Love my wife ! 120 

Pist. With liver burning hot. Prevent, or 
go tliou, 
Like Sir Acticon he, with Ringwood at thy 

heels : 
O, odious is the name ! 

Ford. What name, sir ? 

Pist. The horn, 1 say. Farewell. 
Take heed, have open eye, for thieves do foot 

by night : 
Take heed, ere summer comes or cuckoo-birda 

do sing. 
Away, Sir Corporal Nym ! 
Believe it. Page ; he speaks sense; [Exit. 

Ford. [Aside] I will be patient ; I will find 
out this. V.il 

Nym. [To Page] And this is true ; I like 
not the humor of lying. He hath wronged me 
in some humors : I should have borne the 
humored letter to her ; but I have a sword 
and it shall bite upon my necessity. He loves 
your wife ; there's the short and the louu. 
My name is Corporal Nym ; I speak and I 
avouch ; 'tis true : my name is Nym and Fal- 
staff loves your wife. Adieu. I love not the 
humor of bread and cheese, and there's the 
humor of it. Adieu. [Exit. 141 

Page. ' The humor of it,' quoth a' ! here's 
a fellow frights English out of his wits. 

Ford. I will seek out Falstaff. 

Page. I never heard such a drawling, af- 
fecting rogue. 

Ford. If I do find it : well. 

Page. I will not believe such a Catalan, 
though the priest o' the town commended him 
for a true man. 150 

Ford. 'Twas a good sensible fellow ; well. 

Page. How iwy, Meg ! 
[Mrs. Page and Mrs- Ford come foriimrd. 

Mrs. Page. Whither go you, George ? Hark 
you. 

Mrs. Ford. How now, sweet Frank ! why 
art thou melancholy ? 

Ford. I melancholy ! I am iKJt melanchcly. 
Get you home, go. 

Mrs. Ford. Faith, thou hast some crotclicts 
in thy head. Now, will you go, Mistress Page ? 

3frs. Page. Have with you. You'll come to 
dinner, George. [Aside to Mrs. Foirl] Look 
who comes yonder : she shall \)e our messen- 
ger to this paltry knight. 

Mrs. Ford. [Aside to Mrs. Page} Trust me, 
1 thought on her : she'll fit it. 



SCKXK 1 1.) 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR 



6ir 



Enter Mistuess Quickly. 

Mrs. Page. You are coiue to see my daugh- 
ter Aline ? 

Quick: Ay, forsootli ; and, I pray, how does 
good Mistrens Anne ? ' 170 

Mrs. Page. Go in with us and see : we 
have an hour's talk with you. 

[Ej-('U)iI Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and 
Mrs. (Quickly. 

Page. How now, jNIaster Ford ! 

Fitrd. You heard what this i<nave told me, 
did you nut ? 

Paqe. Yes : aud you heard what tlie otlier 
told me ? 

Ford. Do you think there is truth in them ? 

Page. Haw^ 'em, slaves ! I do not think tlie 
knight would offer it : but these that accuse 
him in his intent towards our wives are a 
yoke of his discarded men ; very rogues, now 
they be out of service. 

Ford. Were they his men ? 

Page, Marry, were they. 

Ford. I like it never the better for that. 
Does he lie at the Garter ? 

Page. Ay, marry, does he. If he should 
intend this voyage towards my wife, I w ould 
turn her loose to him ; and what he gets more 
of her than sharp words, let it lie on my head. 

Ford. I do not misdoubt my wife ; but I 
would be loath to turn them together. A man 
may be too confident : I would have nothing 
lifi on my head : I cannot be thus satisfied. 

I'age. Look where my ranting host of the 
(iaiter comes : there is either liquor in his 
|iate or money in his purse when he looks so 
merrily. 

Enter Host. 

How now, mine host ! 

Host. How now, bully-rook ! thou*rt a gen- 
tleman. Cavaleiro-justice, I .say ! 201 

Enter Shallow. 

Shah I follow, mine host, I foll<jw. Good 
even and twenty, good Master Page ! ^Master 
Page, will you go with us ? we have sport in 
hand. 

Host. Tell him, cavaleiro-justice ; tell him, 
T)ully-rook. 

Shal. Sir, there is a fray to be fought be- 
tween Sir Hugh the Welsh priest and Gains the 
French doctor. 210 

Ford. Good mine host o' the Garter, a woid 
with you. [Drawtng him aside. 

Host. What sayest thou, my bullv-rook ? 

Shal. [To Page]\V\n you go with us to 
beliold it? My merry host hath had the 
measuring of tlieir weapons ; and, 1 think, 
liatli appointed them contrary places ; for, be- 
lieve jue, I liear the parson is no jester. Hark, 
I will tell you what our sport shall be. 

[Tlieij eonverse ajiart. 

Host. Hast thou no suit against my kniglit, 
my guest-cavaleire ? 2*21 

Ford. None, I j)rotest : but I'll give you a 
|)ottle of burnt saick to give me recourse to 



him aud tell him my name is Brook ; only for 
a jest. 

Host. My hand, bully ; thou shalt have 
egress and regress ;— said I well ?— aud thy 
name shall be Brook. It is a nieiTy kuight. 
Will you go, t Au-heires ? 

Shal. Have with you, miue host. 

Page. I have heard the Freuchmau hath 
good skill in his rapier. 2.'11 

Shal. Tut, sir, I could have told you more. 
In these times you stand on distance, your 
l)asses, stoccadoes, and I know not what: 
'tis the heart, Master Page ; 'tis here, 'tis 
here. I have seen the time, with my long 
sword I would have made you four tall i'ellows 
skip like rats. [wag ? 

Jlost. Here, boys, here, here ! shall we 

Page. Have with you. I would rather hear 

them scold than fight. 240 

[Exewit Host, Shal., and Page. 

Ford. Though Page be a secure fool, and 
stands so firmly on his wife's frailty, yet I 
cannot put of¥ my opinion so easily: she was 
in his company at Page's liousi; ; aud what 
they made there, I know not. Well, I will 
look further into't: and I have a disguise to 
sound Falstaff. If I find her honest, 1 lose not 
my labor ; if she be otherwise, 'tis labor well 
bestowed. [Exit. 

ScENK II. A room in the Garter Inn. 
Enter Falstaff and Pistol. 

Fal. I will not lend thee a ]ieuny. 

Pisl. Why, then the world's mine oyster. 
Which I with sword will open. 

Fal. Not a penny. I have been content, 
sir, you should lay my couuten.ance to pawn : 
I have grated upon my good friends for three 
reprieves for you and your coach-fellow Nym ; 
or else you had looked through the grate, like 
a geminy of b.aboons. I am damned in hell 
for swearing to gentlemen my friends, you 
were good soldiers aud tall fellows ; and when 
Mi.stre.ss Bridget lost the handle of her fan, 
1 took't upon miue honor thou liadst it m)t. 

Pisl. Didst not thou share ? liadst thou not 
fifteen pence ? 

Fal. Reason, you rogue, reason : thiukest 
tliou I'll endanger my soul gratis ? At a word, 
hang no more about me, I am no gibbet for 
you. Go. A short knife and a throng ! To 
your manor of Pickt-hati'h ! lio. You'll not 
bear a letter for me, you rogue ! you stand 
upon your honor ! Wliy, thou unconfinable 
baseness, it is as much as I can do to keej) the 
termsof my honor precise : I, I, I myself some- 
times, leaving the fear of God on the left hand 
and hiding mine honor in my necessity, am 
fain to shuffle, to hedge and to lurch ; and yet 
you, rogue, will eusccmce your rags, your cat- 
a-mountain looks, your red-lattice jihrases. 
aud your bold-beating oaths, under the shelter 
of your honor ! You will not do it, you ! 30 

j'i.'^t. I do relent : what would thou mote 
of umu ? 



518 



THE MERRY WIM^S OF WINDSOR. 



lAoTTT. 



Enter Robin. 
i?o6. Sir, here's a woman would apeak with 

you. 
Fal. Let her approach. 

Enter Mistress Quickly. 

Quick. Give your worship good morrow. 

Eal. Good morrow, good wife. 

Quick. Not so, au't please your worship. 

Fal. Good maid, then. 

Quick. I'll be sworu. 
As my mother was, tlie fii'st hour I was boru. 

Fal. I do believe the swearer. AVhat with 
me ? [word or two ? 

Quick. Shall I vouchsafe your worship a 

Fal. Two thousand, fair woman : and I'll 
vouchsafe thee the hearing. 

Quick. There is one Mistress Ford, sir : — I 
pray, come a little nearer this ways : — I myself 
dwell with master Doctor Cains, — 

Fal. Well, on : Mistress Ford, you say, — 

Quick. Your worship says very true : I pray 
your worship, come a little nearer this ways. 

Fal. I warrant tliee, nobody hears ; mine 
own people, mine own people. 51 

Quick, Are they so ? God bless tliem and 
make them his servants ! 

Fal. Well, Mistress Ford ; what of lier ? 

Quick. Why, sir, she's a good creature. 
l>ord. Lord ! your worship's a wanton ! Well, 
heaven forgive you and all of us. I jiray ! 

Fal. Mistress Ford ; come. Mistress Ford, — 

Quick. Marry, this is the short and the long 
of it ; you have brought her into such a can- 
aries as 'tis wonderful. The best courtier of 
them all, when the court lay at Windsor, could 
never liave brought her to such a canary. Yet 
there has been knights, and lords, and gentle- 
men, with their coaches, I warrant you, coach 
•after coach, letter after letter, gift after gift ; 
smelling so sweetly, all musk, and so rushliug, 
1 warrant you, in silk and gold ; and in such 
alligant terni-s ; and in such wine and sugar 
of the best and the fairest, that would have 
won any woman's heart ; and, I warrant you, 
they could never get an eye-wink of her : I had 
myself twenty angels given me this morning ; 
but I defy all angels, in any such .sort, as they 
say, but in the way of honesty : and, I warrant 
you, they could never get her so much as sii> 
on a cup with the proude.st of them all : and 
yet there uas been earls, nay, which is more, 
jjensioners ; but, I warrant you, all is one with 
her. ■ 80 

Fal. But what says she to me ? be brief, 
my good she-Mercury. 

Quick. Marry, she hath received your let- 
ter, for the which she thanks you a thousand 
tiiues ; and she gives you to notify that her 
husband will be absence from his house be- 
tween ten aud eleven. 

Fal. Ten and eleven ? 

Quick. Ay, forsooth ; and then you may 
come aud see the picture, she says, that you 
wot of : Master Ford, her husband, will be from 
home. Alas ! the sweet woman leads an ill 



life with him : he's a very jealousy man : she 
leads a very frainpold life with him, good 
heart. 

Fal. Ten and eleven. Woman, commend 
me to her ; I will not fail her. 

Quick. Why, you .say well. But I have an- 
other messenger to your worship. Mistress 
P.age hath her hearty commendations to you 
too : and let me tell you in your ear, slie's as 
fartuous a civil modest wife, aud one, 1 tell 
you, th.at will not miss you morning nor even- 
ing prayer, as any is in Windsor, whoe'er be 
the other : and sl>e bade me tell your worship 
that her husband is seldom from home ; but 
she hopes there will come a time. 1 never 
knew a woman so dote upon a man : surely 
I think you have charms, la ; j^es, in truth. 

Fal. Nt)t I, I assure thee : setting the at- 
tractions of my good parts aside I have no other 
charms. Ill 

Quick. Blessing on your heart for't ! 

Fal. But, I pray thee, tell me this : has 
Ford's wife and Page's wife acquainted each 
other how they love me ? 

Quirk. That were a jest indeed ! they hav,e 
not so little grace, 1 hope : that were a trick 
indeed ! but Mistress Page would desire you to 
send her your little page, of all loves : her hus- 
band lias a marvellous infection to the little 
page ; and truly Ma-ster Page is an honest man. 
Never a wife in Windsor leads a better life thau 
she does : do what she will, say what she will, 
take all, pay all, go to bed when she list, rise 
when she list, all is as she will : and truly she 
deserves it ; for if there be a kind woman in 
Windsor, she is one. You must send her your 
page ; no remedy. 

Fal. Why, I will. 

Quick. Nay, but do so, then : aud, look you, 
he may come and go between you both ; and 
in any case have a nay-word, that you may 
know one another's mind, and the boy never 
need to understand any thing ; for 'tis not good 
that children should know any wickedness ; 
old folks, you know, have discretion, as they 
say, and know the world. 

Fal. Fare thee well : commend me to them 
both : there's my jturse ; I am yet thy debtor. 
Boy, go along with this woman. [Fxennt 
MLstrcs.^ Quickly and Bobin.] This news dis- 
tracts me ! 

Pist. This punk is one of Cupid's carriers : 
Clap on more sails ; pursue ; up with your 

fights : 
Give fire : she is my prize, or ocean whelm 
them all ! [Exit. 

Fal. Sayest thou so, old Jack? go thy 
ways ; I'll make more of thy old body than I 
have done. Will they yet look after thee ? 
Wilt tliou, after the expense of so much money, 
be now a gainer ? Good body, I thank thee. 
Let them say 'tis grossly done ; so it be fairly 
done, no matter. 

Enter Bardolph. 

Bard, 6ir John, there's one Master Brook 



SCKNE ll-l 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



619 



below would fain speak with yoii, and be ac- 
quainted with you ; and hath f<ent your wor- 
ehip a iuorning*s draught of sack. 

Fal. Brook is his name ? 

Bard. Ay, sir. 

Fal. Call hiin in. [Exit Bardolph.'] Such 
Brooks are welcome to me, that o'erflow such 
liquor. Al), ha ! Mistress Ford and Mistress 
Page have I encompassed you ? go to ; via ! 

Re-enter Bardolph, with Ford disguised. 

Ford. Bless you, sir ! 160 

Fal. And you, sir ! Would you speak with 
me ? 

Ford. I make bold to press with so little 
preoaration upon you. 

I'ul. You're welcome. What's your will ? 
Give us leave, drawer. [Exit Bardolph. 

Ford. Sir, I ■ ■ .1 a gentleman that have spent 
much ; my nau.e is Brook. 

Fal. Good Master Brook, I desire more ac- 
quaintance of you. 

Ford. Good Sir John, I sue for yours : not 
to charge you ; for I must let you understand 
I think myself in better plight for a lender than 
you are : the wliich hath something em- 
ijoldened me to this unseasoned intrusion ; 
for they say, if money go before, all ways do 
lie open. 

Fal. Money is a good soldier, sir, and will 
on. 

Ford. Troth, and I have a bag of money 
here troubles me : if you will help to bear it. 
Sir John, take all, or half, for easing me of the 
carriage. 

F<d. Sir, I know not how I may deserve to 
be your porter. 181 

Ford. I will tell you, sir, if you will give 
me tlie hearing. 

Fal. Speak, good Master Brook : I shall be 
glad to be your servant. 

Ford. Sir, I hear you are a scholar, — I wiU 
be brief with you, — and you have been a man 
long known to me, though I had never so good 
means, as desire, to make myself acquainted 
with you. I shall discover "a thing to you, 
wherein I must very much lay open mine own 
imperfection : but, good Sir John, as you have 
one eye upon my follies, as you hear them un- 
folded, turn another into tlie register of your 
own ; that I may pass with a reproof the easier, 
sith you yourself know how easy it is to be 
such an offender. 

Fal. Very well, sir ; proceed. 

Ford. There is a gentlewoman in this town ; 
her husband's name is Ford. 

Fal. Well, sir. 200 

Ford. I have long loved her, and, I i)rotest 
to you, bestowed much on her ; followed her 
with a doting observance ; engrossed oppor- 
tunities to meet her ; fee'd every slight occa- 
sion that could but niggardly give me sight 
of her ; not only bougiit many i)resents to 
give her, but have given largely to niany to 
know what she would have given ; briefly, I 
have pursued her as love hath pursued me ; 



which hath been on the wing of all occasions. 
But whatsoever 1 have merited, either in my 
mind or in my means, meed, I am sure, I liave 
received none ; unless experience be a jewel 
that I have purchased at an infinite rate, and 
that hath taught me to say this : 
' Love like a shadow flies when substance love 

pursues ; 
Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pur- 
sues,' 

Fal. Have you received no promise of satis- 
faction at her hands ? 

Ford. Never. 

Fal. Have you importuned her to such a 
purpose ? 221 

Ford. Never. 

Fal. Of what quality was your love, then ? 

Ford. Like a lair house built on another 
man's ground ; so that I have lost my edifice 
by mistaking the place where 1 erected it. 

Fal. To what purpose have you unfolded 
this to me ? 

Ford. When I have told you that, I have 
told you all. Some say, that though she ap- 
pear honest to me, yet in other places she en- 
largeth her mirth so far that there is shrewd 
construction made of her. Now, Sir John, 
here is the heart of my purpose : you are a 
gentleman of excellent breeding, admirable 
discourse, of great admittiince, authentic in 
your place and person, generally allowed for 
your many war-like, court-like, and learned 
preparations. 

Ful. O, sir ! 

Ford. Believe it, for you know it. There 
is money ; spend it, spead it ; spend more ; 
spend all I have ; only give me so much of 
your time in exchange of it, as to lay an ami- 
able siege to the honesty of this Ford's wife : 
use your art of wooing ; win her to consent to 
you : if any man may, you may as soon as 
any. 

Fal. Would it apply well to the vehenieucy 
of your affection, that I should win what you 
would enjoy ? Methinks you prescribe to 
j'ourself very pi-eposterously. 250 

Ford. O, understand my drift. She dwells 
so securely on the excellency of her honor, 
that the folly of my soul dares not present it- 
self : she is too bright to be looked against. 
Now, could I come to her with any detection 
in my liand, my desires luid instance and argu- 
ment to commend themselves : I could drive 
her then from the ward of her purity, her rep- 
utation, her marriage-vow, and a thousand 
other her defences, which now are too too 
strongly embattled against me. What say you 
to't, Sir John ? 2(n 

Fal. Master Brook, I will first make boh I 
with your money ; next, give nie your hand ; 
and la.st, as I am a gentleman, you shall, if you 
will, enjoy Ford's wife. 

Ford. O good sir ! 

Fal. I say you shall. 

Ford. Want no money, Sir John ; you shall 
want none. 



520 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



[Act II 



Fal. Want no Mistress Ford, Master Brook ; 
you shall want none. I shall be with her, I 
may tell yon, by her own appointment ; even 
as you came in to me, her assistant or tjo-be- 
tween parted from me : I say I shall be with 
her between ten and eleven ; for at that time 
the jealous rascally knave her husband will be 
fortii. Come yon to me at night ; you shall 
know how I speed. 

F:iril. I am blest in your acquaintance. Do 
you know Ford, sir ? 280 

F(d. Hang him, poor cuckoldly knave ! I 
know him not : yet I wrong him to call him 
poor ; they say tlie jealous wittolly knave hath 
masses of money ; for the which his wife seems 
to me well-favored. I will use her as tlie key 
of the cuckoldly I'ogne's coffer ; and there's 
my harvest-home. 

F'ord. \ would you knew Ford, sir, that you 
might avoid hira if you saw him. 

Ful. Hang him, mechanical salt-butter 
rogue ! 1 will stare him out of his wits ; I will 
awe him with my cudgel : it shall hang like a 
meteor o'er the cuckold's horns. Master 
Brook, thou shalt know I will predominate 
over the peasant, and thou shalt lie with his 
wife. Come to me soon at night. Ford's a 
knave, and I will aggravate his style ; thou, 
Master Brook, shalt know him for knave and 
cuckold. Come to me soon at night. [Exit. 

Ford. What a damned Epicurean rascal is 
this ! My heart is ready to crack with im- 
patience. Who says this is improvident jeal- 
ousy ? my wife hath sent to him ; the hour is 
fixed ; the match is made. Would any man 
have thought this ? See the hell of having a 
false woman ! My bed shall be abused, my 
coffers ransacked, my reputation gnawn at ; 
and I shall not only receive this villanous 
wrong, but stand under the adoption of abom- 
inable terms, and by him that does me this 
wrong. Terms ! names ! Amaimon sounds 
well ; Lucifer, well ; Barbason, well ; yet they 
are devils' additions, the names of fiends : but 
Cuckold ! Wittol !— Cuckold ! the devil him- 
self hath not such a name. Page is an ass, a 
secure ass : he will trust his wife : he will not 
be jealous. I will rather trust a Fleming with 
my batter, Parson Hugh the Welshman with 
my cheese, an Irishman with my aqua-vita? 
bottle, or a thief to walk my ambling gelding, 
than my wife with herself ; then she plots, 
then she ruminates, then she devises ; and 
what they think in thejr hearts they may ef- 
fect, they will bi'eak their hearts but tiiey will 
elfect. God be praised for my jealousy ! 
Kleven o'clock the hour. I will jtrevent this, 
r'etect my wife, be revenged on Falstaff, and 
laiinh at Page. I will about it ; better three 
hours too soon than a minute too late. Fie, fie, 
fie ! cuckold ! cuckold ! cuckold f [Exit. 

Scene III. Afield near 'Windsor. 
Enter Caius and Rugby 
Cains. Jack Rugbj 



Rug. Sir ? 

Cains. Vat is de clock, .Tack ? 

RiKj. 'Tis past the hour, ; :i'. th.at Sir Hugh 
promised to meet. 

Cains. By gar, he has save his soul, dat he 
is no come ; he has pray his Pible well, dat ho 
is no come : by gar. Jack Rugby, he is dead 
already, if he be come. 

Rug. He is wise, sir ; he knew your wor- 
ship would kill him, if he came. 11 

Cains. By gar, de herring is no dead so as 
I vill kill him. Talie your rapier. Jack ; I vil] 
tell yon how I vill kill him. 

Rug. Alas, sir, I cannot fence. 

Caius. Villany, take your rapier. 

Rug. Forbear ; here's company. 

Enter Host, Shallow, Slender, (md Page. 

Host. Bless thee, bully doctor ! 

Shal. Save you, Master Doctor Caius f 

Page. Now, good master doctor ! 20 

Slen. Give you good morrow, sir. 

Caius. Vat be all you, one, two, tree, four, 
come for ? 

Host. To see thee fight, to see thee foin, to 
see thee traverse ; to see thee here, to see thee 
there ; to see thee pass thy punto, thy stock, 
thy reverse, thy distance, thy montant. Is he 
dead, my Ethiopian ? is he dead, my Fran- 
cisco ? ha, bully ! What says my yEsculapiu.« ? 
m v Galen ? my heart of elder ? ha ! is he dead, 
biilly stale ? is" he dead ? 31 

Caius. By gar, he is de coward Jack priest 
of de vorld ; he is not show his face. 

Host. Thou art a Castalion-King-Urinal. 
Hector of Greece, my boy ! 

Cai2is. I pray you, bear vitness that me have 
stay six or seven, two, tree hours for him, 
and he is no come, 

ShaL He is the wiser man, master doctor •. 
he is a curer of souls, and you a cnrer of bod- 
ies ; if you should light, you go against tlie 
hair of your professions. Is it not true, Mas- 
ter Page ? 

Page. Master Shallow, you have yourself 
been a great fighter, though now a man of 
peace. 

t>hal. Bodykins, Master Page, though I now 
be old and of the peace, if I see a sword out, 
my finger itches to make one. Though we are 
justices and doctors and churchmen. Master 
Page, we have some salt of our youth in us ; 
we are the sons of women. Master Page. 51 

Page. 'Tis true. Master Shallow. 

Shal. It will be found so. Master Page. 
Master Doctor Cains, I am come to fetch you 
home. I am sworn of the peace : you have 
showed yourself a wise physician, and Sir 
Hugh hath shown himself a wise and p.atient 
churchman. You must go with me, master 
doctor. 

Host. Pardon, guest-justice. A word. Moun. 
geur Mockwater. 6t» 

Cams. Mock-vater ! vat is dat ? 

Host. Mock-water, in our English tongue, 
ia Talor, bully. 



Scene i.] 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



621 



Caiun. By arar, den, I liave as mush niock- 
vater as de Englisliman. Scurvy jack-dog 
jjriest ! by gar, me vill cut his ears. 

Hoxt. He will clapper-claw thee tightlj', 
bully. 

t'ltius. Clapper-de-claw ! vat is dat ? 

Iloat. That is, he will make thee amends. 70 

('(litis. By gar, me do look he shall clapper- 
de-c'la\v me ; for, by gar, me vill have it. 

Host. And I will provoke him to't, or let 
him wag. 

Cains. Me tank you for dat. 

llo.tt. And, moreover, bully, — but first, mas- 
ter guest, and Master Page, and eke C.avaleiro 
Slender, go you througTi the tovni to Frog- 
jnore. [A.iide to them. 

Pciije. Sir Hugh is there, is he ? 

Host. Ho is there : see what humor he is 
in ; and I will bring the doctor about by the 
fields. Will it do well ? 

,S7(((/. We will do it. 

Picji-, Slial., and Slen. Adieu, good master 
doctor. ■ [Exeunt Paf/e, Shal., and Slen. 

Cains. By gar, me vill kill de priest ; for 
he si>eak for a jack-an-ape to Anne Page. 

Jliist. Let liim die : sheathe thy impatience, 
throw cokl w.ater on thy choler : go about the 
fields with me through Frogmore : I will bring 
thee where Mistress Anne Page is, at a farm- 
house a-fcasting ; and thou shalt woo her. 
I'ried I aim ? said I well ? 

Cains. By gar, me dank you for dat : by 
gar, I love you ; and I shall procure-a you de 
good guest, de earl, de knight, de lords, de 
gcntlcuion, my patients. 

Host. For the which I will be thy adversary 
tonanl Aiuie Page. Said I well? 

Cains. By gar, 'tis good ; veil said, 100 

Host. Let us wag, then. 

Cuius. Come at my heels. Jack Rugby. 

[Exeunt. 



ACT m. 



Scene L Afield near Frogmore, 
Enter Siii Hugh Evans and Simple. 

Erans. I pray you now, good Master Slen- 
der's serving-nuiu, and friend Simple by your 
name, wliich way have you looked for Master 
Cains, that calls himself doctor of physic ? 

-SV;h. Marry, sir, tlie pittie-ward, the park- 
ward, every way ; old Windsor way, and 
every way but the town way. 

Eraus. I most fehemeutly desire you you 
will also look that way. 

Sim. I will, sir. [Exit. 10 

Evans. 'Pless my .soul, how full of chollors 
1 am, and trempling of mind ! I shall be glad 
if he have deceived nie. How melancholies I 
ftm ! I will knog his urinals aliout his knave's 
costard when I have good opportunities for tlie 
ork. 'Pless my soul I lUinys. 



To shallow rivers, to whose falls 
Melodious birds sings madrigals ; 
There will we make our peds of roses. 
And a thousand fragrant ix)8ie8. 20 

To sliallow — 
Mercy on me ! I have a great dispositions to 
cry. [Sinys. 

Melodious birds sing madrigals — 
When as I sat in Pabylon — 
And a thousand vagram posies. 
To shallow &c. 

Re-enter Simple. 

Si7n. Yonder he is coming, this wav. Sir 
Hugh. 

Eran.<!. lie's welcome. [Sings, 

To shallow rivers, to whose falls — 
Heaven prosper the right ! What weapons is 
he? 

Sim. No weapons, sir. There conies iiiv 
master, Master Shallow, and another gentle- 
man, from Frogmore, over the stile, tliis 
way. 

Eran.9. Pray you, give me my gown ; or 
else keep it in your arms. 

Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender. 

Shal. How now. master Parson ! Good 
morrow, good Sir Hugh. Keep a gamester 
from the dice, and a good student from his 
book, and it is wonderful 

Slen. [Aside] Ah, sweet Anne Page ! 40 

Page. 'Save you, good Sir Hugh ! 

Evans. 'Pless you from his mercy sake, all 
of vou ! 

Shal. What, the sword and the m ord ! do 
you .study tliem both, master parson ? 

Page. And youthful still ! in your doublet 
and hose this raw rheumatic day ! 

Evans. There is reasons and causes for it. 

Page. We are come to you to do a good 
office, master parson. 50 

Evans. Fery well ! what is it ? 

Page. Yonder is a mo.st reverend gentle- 
man, who, belike having received wiong by 
some person, is at most odds with his owu 
gravity and patience that ever you saw. 

.S7*«/. 1 have lived fourscore years and up- 
ward ; 1 never heard a man of his place, 
gravity and learning, so wide of his own re- 
spect. 

Evans. Wnat is he ? 

Page. I think you know him ; Master 
Doctor Caius, the renowned French physician 

Erans. Got's will, and his i)as,sion of my 
heart ! I had as lief you would tell me of a 
mess of porridge. 

Page. Why? 

Evans. He has no more knowledge in Hibo- 
crates and Galen,— and he is a knave besides ; 
a cowardly knave as you would desires to be 
acquainted withal. 

Page. I warrant you, he's the man should 
fight with him. 71 

Skn. [Aside] sweet Anne Page ! 



622 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



[Act III, 



Shul. It appears so by his weapons. Keep 
them asunder : here comes Doctor Cains. 
Enter Host, Caius, and Rugbv. 

Page, Nay, good master parson, keep in 
your weapon. 

Shnl. So do you, good master doctor. 

Host. Disarm them, and let them question: 
let tliem Iceep tlieir limbs whole and hack our 
English. 80 

Cams. I pray, you, let-a me speak a word 
with your ear. Vherefore vill you not meet-a 
me ? 

Evans. [Aside to Cams'] Pray you, use your 
patience : in good time. 

Cains. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack 
dog, John ape. 

Evans. {Aside to Cants] Pray yon, let us 
not be laughing-stocks toother men's humors ; 
1 desire you in friendship, and I will one way 
or other make you amends. lAloud] 1 will 
knog your urinals about your knave's cogs- 
comb for missing your meetings and appoint- 
ments. 92 

Cains. Diable ! Jack Rugby, — mine host de 
Jarteer, — have I not stiiy for him to kill him ? 
laave 1 not, at de place I did appoint ? 

Evans. As I am a Christians soul now, look 
you, this is the place appointed : I'll be judge- 
ment by mine host of tlie Garter. 

Host. Peace, I say. Gallia and Gaul, French 
and Welsh, soul-curer and body-curer 1 100 

Caius, Ay dat is very good ; excellent. 

Host. Peace, I say ! hear mine host of the 
Garter. Am I politic ? am I subtle ? am 1 a 
Machiavel ? Sliall I lose my doctor ? no ; he 
gives me the potions and the motions. Shall I 
lose my parson, my priest, my Sir Hugh ? no ; 
he gives me the proverbs and the no-verbs. 
Give me thy hand, terrestrial ; so. Give me 
thy hand, celestial ; so. Boys of art, I have 
deceived you both ; I have directed you to 
wrong places : your hearts are mighty, j'our 
skins are whole, and let burnt sack be the issue. 
Come, lay their swords to pawn. Follow me, 
lads of peace ; follow, follow, follow. 

.S'/in/. Trust me, a mad host. Follow, gen- 
tlemen, follow. 

Slen. [Aside] sweet Anne Page ! 

[Exeunt Shal., Slen., Paf/e, and Host. 

Caius. Ha, do I perceive dat? have you 
make-a de sot of us, ha, ha ? 

Evans . This is well ; he has made us his 
vloiiting-stog. I desire you tliat we may be 
friends ; and let us knogourpr.-.iiis together to 
be revenge on this same scall, scurvy, cogging 
companion, the host of the Garter. 

Cdius. By gar, with all my heart. He ])rom- 
ise to bring me where is Anne Page ; by gar, 
he deceive me too. 

Evans. Well, I will smite his noddles. Pray 
you, follow [Exeunt. 

Scene II. A street. 
Enter Mistress Page and Robin. 
Mr». Page, Nay, keep your way, little gal- 



lant ; you were wont to be a follower, but now 
you are a leader. Whether had yc rathet 
lead mine eyes, or eye your master's heels ? 

Rob. I had rather, forsooth, go bt^fore you 
like a man than follow him like a dwarf. 

Mrs. Page. O, you are a flattering boy i 
now I see you'll be a courtier. 
Enter Ford. 

Ford. Well met. Mistress Page. Whither 
go you ? 10 

Sirs, Page. Truly, sir, to see your wife. Is 
she at home ? 

Ford. Ay ; and as idle as she may hang 
together, for want of company. I think, if 
your husbands were dead, you two would 
marry. 

Mrs, Page. Be sure of that, — two other hus- 
bands. 

Ford, Where had you this pretty weather- 
cock ? 

Mrs. Page. I cannot tell what the dickens 
his name is my hu.sband had him of. What do 
you call vour knight's name, sirrali ? 21 

Eob. iSir John Falstaff. 

Ford. Sir John Falstaff ! 

Mrs. Page. He, he ; I can never hit on's 
name. There is such a league between my 
good man and he 1 Is your wife at home 
indeed ? 

Ford. Indeed she is. 

Mrs, Page. By your leave, sir : I am sick 
till I see her. [Exeunt Mrs. Page and Robin. 

Ford, Has Page any brains ? hath he any 
eyes ? hath he any thinking ? Sure, they 
sleep ; he hath no use of them. Why, this boy 
will carry a letter twenty mile, as easy as a 
cannon vvill shoot point-blank twelve score. 
He pieces out his wife's inclination ; he gives 
her folly motion and advantage : and now she's 
going to my wife, and Falstatl'sboy with her. 
A man may hear tliis shower sing in the wind. 
And Falstaff's boy witli her ! Good plots, they 
are laid ; and our revolted wives share damna- 
tion together. Well ; I will take him, then 
torture my wife, pluck the borrowed veil of 
modesty from the so seeming Mistress Page, 
divulge Page himself for a secure and wilful 
ActiBon ; andtotliese violent proceedings all 
my neighbors shall cry aim. [Clock heard.] 
The clock gives me my cue, and my assurance 
bids me search : there I shall find Falstaff : I 
shall be rather praised for this than mocked ; 
for it is as positive as the earth is firm that 
Falstaff is there : I will go. 50 

Enter Page, Shallow, Slender, Host, Sir 
Hugh Evans, Caius, and Rugby. 

Shal., Page, &c. Well met, Master Ford. 

Ford. Trust me, a good knot : I have good 
cheer at home ; and I pray you all go with me. 

Shal. I must excuse myself. Master Ford. 

Sien, And so must I, sir : we have appoint- 
ed to dine with Mistress Anne, and I would 
not break with her for more money than I'll 
epeak of. 

SMI, We have lingered about a match be- 



Scene hi.] 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



523 



tween Anne Page and my cousin Slender, and 
this day we shall have our answer. 60 

Slen. I hope I )iave your good will, father 
Page. 

Page. You have, Master Slender ; I stand 
wholly for you : but my wife, master doctor, 
is for you altogether. 

Caitts. Ay, be-gar ; and de maid is love-a 
me : my nursh-a Quickly tell me so mush. 

Host. What say you to young Master 
Fenton ? he capers, he dances, he has eyes of 
youth, he writes verses, lie speaks holiday, he 
smells April and INIay : he will carry't, he will 
carry't ; 'tis in his buttons ; he will carry't. 71 

Paf/e. Not by my consent, 1 promise you. 
The gentlenum is of no having : he kept coni- 
jjauy with the wild virince and Poins ; he is of 
t jO high a region ; he knows too much. No, 
he sliall not knit a knot in his fortunes with the 
fuiger of my substance : if he take her, let liim 
take her simply ; the wealth I ha\ e waits on 
my consent, and my consent goes not that way. 

Ford. I beseech you heartily, some of you 
go home with me to dinner : besides your 
cheer, you shall liave sport ; 1 will show you a 
monster. Master doctor, you shall go ; so shall 
>ou, Master Page ; and you, Sir Hugh. 

.s7/o/. Well, fare you well : we shall have 
the freer wooing at Master Page's. 

[Ercitrii ,Sh(il. andSleii. 

Cuhis. Go home, John Rugby ; I come anon. 
[Exit Ruf/bij. 

Host. Farewell, ray hearts : 1 will to my 
honest knight Falstaff, and drink canary with 
hiui. . [Exit. 

Ford. [Aside] I think I shall drink in pipe 
wine first with him ; I'll make him dance. 
Will you go, gentles ? 

All. Have with you to see this monster. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. A room in Ford's house. 

Enter Mistress Ford and Mistress Page. 

Mrs. Ford. What, John ! What, Robert ! 

Mrs. Piuje. Quickly, quickly ! is the buck- 
basket — 

Mrs. Ford. I warrant. What, Robin, I say ! 

Enter Servants with a basket. 

Mrs. Page. Come, come, come. 

Mrs. Ford. Here, set it down. 

Mrs. Page. Give your men the charge ; we 
must be brief. 

Mrs. Ford. Marry, as I told you before, John 
and Robert, be ready here hard by in the brew- 
house : and when I suddenly call you, come 
forth, and without any pause or staggering 
take this basket on your shoulders : that done, 
trudge with it in all haste, and carry it among 
the whitsters in Datchet-mead, and there 
empty it in the muddy ditch close by the 
Thames side. 

Mrs. Page. You will do it ? 

Mrs. Ford. I ha' told them over and over ; 
they lack uo direction. Be gone, and come 



when you are called. [Exevnt Serranls. 20 
Mrs. Page. Here comes little Robin. 

Enter Robin. 
Mrs. Ford. How now, my eyas-musket I 
what news Avitli you ? 

Bob. My master. Sir John, is come in at 
your back-door, Mistress Ford, and requests 
your company. 

Mr.s. Page. You little Jack-a-Lent, have you 
been true to us ? 

Rob. Ay, I'll be sworn. My master knows 
not of your being here and hath threatened to 
put me into everlasting liberty if 1 tell you of 
it ; for he swears he'll turn me away. 

Mrs. Page. Thou'rtagoodboy : this secrecy 
of thine shall be a tailor totlieeand shall make 
thee a new doublet and hose. I'll go hide me. 

Mrs. Ford. Do so. Go tell thy master 1 am 
alone. [Exit Robin.] Mistress Page, remem- 
ber you your cue. 

Mrs. Page. I warrant thee ; if I do not act 
it, hiss me. [Exit. 41 

Mrs. Ford. Go to, then : we'll use this un- 
wholesome humidity, this gross watery piini- 
pion ; we'll teach liim to know turtles from 
jays- 

Enter Falstaff. 

Fal. Have I caught thee, my heavenly 
jewel ? Why, now let me die, for I have lived 
long enough : this is the jieriod of my ambi- 
tion : O this blessed hour ! 

Mrs. Ford. O sweet Sir John ! 

Fal. Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot 
prate. Mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my 
wish : I would thy husband were dead : I'll 
speak it before the best lord ; I would make 
thee my lady. 

Mrs. Ford. I your lady. Sir John ! alas, 1 
should be a ])itiful lady ! 

Fal. Let the court of France show me such 
another. I see how thine eye would emulate 
the diamond : thou hast the right arched 
beauty of the brow that becomes the ship-tire, 
the tire-valiant, or auy tire of Venetian admit- 
tance. 61 

Mrs. Ford. A plain kerchief. Sir John : my 
brows become nothing else ; nor that well 
neither. 

Fal. By the Lord, thou art a traitor to say 
so: tiiou wouldst make an absolute courtier ; 
and the firm fi.vture of thy foot would give an 
excellent motion to thy gait in a semi-circled 
farthingale. 1 see what thou wert, if Fortune 
thy foe w ere not, Nature thy friend. Come, 
thou canst not hide it. 71 

Mrs. Ford. Believe me, there is no such 
thing in me. 

Fal. AVhat made me love thee ? let that 
persuade thee there's something e.\traordiiiarv 
in thee. Come, 1 cannot cog and say thou art 
this and that, like a many of these lisping 
haw-thorii-buds, that come like women in 
men's apparel, and smell like Bucklersbury in 
simple time ; I cannot : Uit I love thee ; none 
but tliee : and thou deservest it. 81 



524 



THE MERRY WH'ES OF WINDSOR. 



[Act in. 



Mrs. Ford. Do not betray me, sir. I fear 
you love Mistress Page. 

Fal. Tliou miglitst as well say I love to 
walk by tlie Counter-gate, which is as hateful 
to me as the reek of a lime-kiln. 

Mrs, Ford. Well, heaven knows liow I love 
you ; and you shall one day find it. 

Fal. Keep in that mind ; I'll deserve it. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, I must tell you, .so you 
do; or else I could not be in tliat mind. ' Itl 

R:)b. [)r///i;/il Mistress Ford, Mistress Ford! 
here's Mistress Page at the door, sweating and 
blowing and looking wildly, and would needs 
speak with you presently. 

Fal. She shall not see me : I will ensconce 
me behind the arras. 

Mrs. Ford. Pray you, do so : she's a very 
tattling woman. [Fulstaff hides himself. 

R'-cnter Mistress Page and Robin. 

What's the matter ? how now ! 100 

Mrs. Page. O Mistress Ford, what have 
you done? You're shamed, you're overthrown, 
you're undone for ever ! 

Mrs. Ford. What's the matter, good Mistress 
Page ? 

Mrs. Page. O well-a-day. Mistress Ford ! 
havin<^ an honest man to your husband, to 
give him such cause of suspicion ! 

Mrs. Ford. Wliat cause of suspicion ? 

Mrs. Paf/e. What cause of suspicion ! Out 
U|)()ii you ! how am I mistook in you ! Ill 

Mr.:. Ford. Why, alas, what's tlie matter ? 

Mrs. Page. Your luisband's coming hither, 
woman, with all the otticeis in Windsor, to 
search for a gentleman that ho says is heie 
MOW in tlie house by your consent, to take an 
ill advantage of his absence : you are undone. 

Mrs. Ford. 'Tis not so, 1 hope. 

Mrs. Page. Pray heaven it be not so, that 
you have such a man here ! but 'tis most cer- 
tain your husband's coming, witli half Wind- 
sor at his heels, to search "for such a one. I 
come before to tell you. If you know yourself 
clear, why, I am glad of it ; but if you liave a 
friend here, convey, convey him out. Be not 
amazed ; call all your senses to you ; defend 
your reputation, or bid farewell to your good 
life for ever. 

Mrs. Ford. What shall I do ? There is a 
gentleman my dear friend ; and 1 fear not 
mine own shame so mncli as his peril : I had 
rather than a tliousand pound he were out of 
the house. 

Mrs. Page. For shame ! never stand ' you 
liad ratlier' and ' you had rather : ' your hus- 
band's liere at hand ; bethink you of some 
conveyance : in the liouse you cannot lude 
him. O, how have you deceived me! Look, 
here is a basket : if he be of any reasonable 
stature, he may creep in here ; and throw 
foul linen upon him, as if it were going to 
bucking : or — it is whiting-time — send him by 
your two men t(3 Datchet-mead. 141 

Mrs. Ford. He's too big to go in there. 
Wbat shall 1 do ? 



Fal [Coming forward] I.ct me sce't, left 
me see't, O, let me see't ! I'll in, Pll in. FoU. 
low your friend's counsel. I'll in. 

Mrs. Page. What, Sir John Falstaff! Are 
these your letters, knight ? 

F((l. I love thee. Help me away. Let me 
creep in here. I'll never — 150 

[Gets into the basket ; tliey cover him 
until foul linen. 
Mrs. Page. Help to cover your master, boy. 
Call your men. Mistress Ford. Y''ou dissem- 
bling knight ! 
Mrs. Ford. What, Jolm ! Robert ! John ! 
[Fxit Robin. 
Re-enter Servants. 
Go take up these clothes here quickly. Where's 
the cowl-staff? look, liow you drumble! Carry 
them to the laundress in Datchet-mead ; 
quickly, come. 

Enter Ford, Page, Caius, and Sir Hugh 
Evans. 

Foi'd. Pray you, come near : if I suspect 
without cause, why then make sport at me ; 
then let me be your jest ; I deserve it. How 
now ! whither bear you tliis ? 

Serv. To the laundress, forsooth. 

Mrs. Ford Wliy, what have you to do 
whither they bear it ? Y''ou were best meddle 
with buck-washing. 

Firrd. Buck! 1 would I could wash myself 
of tlie buck ! Buck, buck, buck ! Ay, buik; I 
warrant you, buclc ; and of the season too, it 
shall appear. [Ej-evnt ,'^errants with the bas- 
ket.] Gentlemi'ii, I have dreamed to-night ; 
I'll tell you my dream. Here, here, here be 
my keys : ascend my chambers ; search, si'ck, 
find out : I'll warrant we'll unkennel the fox. 
Let me stop this way first. [Locking the dour. \ 
So, now uncape. 

Page. Good Master Ford, be contented : you 
wrong yourself too much. 

Ford. True, Master Page. Up, gentlemen : 
you shall see sport anon : follow me, gentle- 
men. [Exit. 1«0 

Evans. This is fery fantastical humors and 
jealousies. 

Cains. By gar, 'tis no the fashion of France; 
it is not jealous in France. 

Page. Nay, follow him, gentlemen ; see the 
issue of his search. 

[Exeunt Page, Caius, and Evans. 

Mrs. Pac/e. Is there not a double excellency 
in this ? 

Mrs. Ford. I know not which pleases me 
better, that my husband is deceived, or Sir 
John. 

Mrs. Page. What a taking was he in when 
your husband asked who was in the basket ! 

Mr.<i. Ford. I am half afraid he will have 
need of washing ; so throwing him into the 
water will do him a benefit. 

Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest rascal ! I 
would all of the same strain were in the same 
distress. 
Mn, Ford. I think my husband bath some 



Scene iv.) 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



625 



special suspicion of F;ilstuff's being here ; for 
I never saw him so gross in liis jealousy till 
now. 

Mrs Paye. I will lay a plot to try that ; 
and we will yet have more tricks with Falstiiff : 
his dissolute disease will scarce obey this med- 
icine. 

Mm. Ford. Shall we send that foolish car- 
rion, Mistress Quickly, to liini, and excuse his 
throwing into the water ; and give him another 
hoi)C, to betray him to another punishment ? 

Mrs. Paf/e. We will do it ; let him be sent 
for to-morrow, eight o'clock, to have amends. 

Kt-oitcr FoKD, Page, Caius, and Siu Hugh 
Evans. 

Ford. I cannot find him : may be the knave 
bragged of that he could not compass. 

3//VS. Pw/e. [Aside to Mrs. Ford] Heard you 
that ? 

Mrs. Ford. You use me well, Master Ford, 
do you ? 

/')/•(/. Ay, I do so. 

Mrs. Ford. Heaven make you better than 
your thoughts ! 

Ford. Amen ! 220 

Mrs. Pta/e. You do yourself mighty wrong, 
Master Ford. 

Ffird. Ay, ay ; I must bear it. 

Knins. If there be any pody in the liouse, 
,ind in the chambers, and in tiic coffers, and in 
the presses, heaven forgive my sins at the day 
of judgment I 

(jidns. By gar, uor I too : there is no bod- 
ies. 

Paye. Fie, fie, Master Ford ! are you not 
ashamed ? What spirit, what devil suggests 
this imagination? I would not ha' your dis-' 
temper in this kind for the wealth of Windsor 
Castle. 

Ford. 'Tis my fault. Master Page: I sutTer 
for it. 

Eraiis. You suffer for a pad conscience : 
your wife is as honest a 'omans as i will de- 
sires among live thousand, and five hundred 
too. 

Cuius. By gar, I see"tis an honest woman. 

Ford. Weil, I promised you a dinner. Come, 
come, walk in the Park : I pray you, pardon 
me ; I will hereafter make known to you why 
I have done this. Come, wife; come, Mistress 
Page. I i)ray you, pardon me; pray heartily, 
pardon me. 

Pane. Let's go in, gentlemen ; but, trust 
me, we'll mock him. I do invite you to-mor- 
row morning to my house to breakfast : after, 
we'll a-birding together ; 1 have a fine hawk 
for the busli. Shall it be so ? 

Ford. Any thing. 

Eraii.s. If there is one, I shall make two in 
the coini)any. 2.51 

Cains If dere be one or two, I shall niake-a 
the turd. 

Ford. Pray you, go, plaster Page. 

Evans. I pray you now, remembrance to- 
morrow vix the lousy knave, luiue host 



Cuius. Dat is good ; by gar, with aU my 
heart ! 

Evans. A lousy knave, to have his gibes 
suid his mockeries ! \Ex(iunt. 260 

Scene IV. A room in Page's house. 
Enter Fenton and Anne Page. 

Fent i see I cannot get thy father's love ; 
Therefore no more turn nicto him, sweet Nan 

Anne. Alas, how then ? 

Fent. Why, thou must be thyself. 

He doth objei't I am too great of birth ; 
And that, my state being gall'd witli my ex- 
pense, 
I seek to heal it only by his wealth : 
Be.sides these, other bars he lays before me, 
My riots past, my wild societies ; 
And tells me 'tis a thing impossible 
I should love thee bnt as a property. 10 

Anjie. May be he tells you true. 

Fent. No, heaven so speed me in my time 
to come ! 
Albeit 1 will confess thy father's wealth 
Was the first motive that I woo'd thee, Anne : 
Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value 
Than stamps in gold or sums in sealed bags ; 
And 'tis tlie very riches of thyself 
That now I aim at. 

Anne. Gentle Master Fenton, 

Yet seek my father's love ; still seek it, sir : 
If opportunity and humblest suit 20 

Cannot attain it, why, then,— hark you hither! 
ITIieij ronrcrsc Ojiart. 

Enter Shallow, Slender, and Mi.stkess 
Quick LV. 

Shal. Break their bilk, Mistress Quickly : 
my kinsman shall speak for himself. 

Slen. I'll makea shaft or a bolton't : 'slid, 
'tis but venturing 

Shal. Be not dismayed. 

S/cu.. No, she shall not dismay me : I care 
not for that, but that I am afeard. 

Quirk. Hark ye ; Master Slender would 
speak a word with you. ■'50 

Anne. I come to him. [Aside] This is my 
father's choice. 
O, what a world of vile ill-favor'd fatdts 
Looks liandsome in three hundred pounds 
a-year ! 

Quick. And how does good Master Fenton? 
Pray you, a word with you. 

Shal. She's coming ; to her, coz. O boy, 
thou hadst a father ! 

Slcn. I had a father. Mistress Anne ; my 
uncle can tell you good jests of hiuL Pray 
you, uncle, leii Mistress Anne the jest, how 
"my father stole two geese cut of a pen, good 
uncle. 41 

Shal. Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you. 

■SYc/i. Ay, that I do ; as well as I love any 
woman in Gloucestershire. 

^7/«/. He will maintain you like a gentle- 
woman. 

Slen. Ay, that I will, come cut and long- 
tail, under the degree of a squire. 



626 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



[Act in. 



Shal. He will make you a hundred and fifty 
pounds jointure. 50 

Anne. Good Master Shallow, let him woo 
for himself. 

Shal. Marry, I thank you for it ; I thank 
you for that good comfort. She calls you, 
coz : I'll leave you. 

Anne. Now, Master Slender, — 

Slen. Now, good Mistress Anne, — 

Anne. What is your will ? 

Slen. My will ! 'od's heartlings, that's a 
pretty jest indeed ! 1 ne'er made my will yet, 
I thank heaven ; I am not such a sickly crea- 
ture, I give heaven praise. 62 

Anne. I mean. Master Slender, what would 
you Avith me ? 

Slen. Truly, for mine own part, I would 
little or nothing with you. Your father and 
my uncle hath made motions : if it be my 
luck, so ; if not, happy man be his dole ! They 
can tell you how things go better than I can : 
you may ask your father ; here he comes. 70 

Enter Page and Mistress Page. 

Page. Now, Master Slender : love him, 
daughter Anne. 
Why, how now I what does Master Fenton 

here ? 
You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my 

house : 
I told j'ou, sir, my daughter is disposed of. 
Fent. Nay, Master Page, be not impatient. 
Mrs. Page. Good Master Fenton, come not 

to my child. 
Page. She is no match for you. 
Fent. Sir, will you hear me ? 
Page. No, good Master Fenton. 

Come, Master Shallow ; come, son Slender, in. 
Knowing my mind, you wrong me, Master 
Fenton. [Exe^uit Page, Shal., and Slen. 
Quick. Speak to Mistress Page. 
Fent. Good Mistress Page, for that I love 
your daughter 
In such a righteous fashion as I do, 
Perforce, against all checks, rebukes and 

manners, 
I must advance the colors of my love 
And not retire : let me have your good will. 
Anne. Good mother, do not marry me to 

yond fool. 
Mrs. Page. 1 mean it not ; I seek you a 

better hu.sband. 
Quick. That's my master, master doctor. 
Anne. Alas, I had rather be set quick i' the 
earth 90 

And bowl'd to death with turnips! 
3Irs. Page. Come, trouble not yourself. 
Good Master Fenton, 
I will not be your friend nor enemy : 
My daughter will I question how she loves 

you. 
And as I find her, so am I affected. 
Till then farewell, sir : she must needs go in ; 
■Her father will be angry. 
Fent. Farewell, gentle mistress: farewell, 
Han. lExemit Mrs. Page and Aiiiie. 



Quick. This is my doing, now : ' Nay,* 
said I, ' will you cast away your child on c 
fool, and a physician ? Look on Master Fen- 
ton : ' this is my doing. 

Fent. I thank thee ; and I pray thee, onc« 
to-night 
Give my sweet Nan this ring : there's for thy 
pains. 

Quick. Now heaven send thee good for- 
tune ! [Exit Fe7it(>n.] A kind heart he hath : 
a woman would run through fire and water 
for such a kind heart. But yet I would my 
master had Slistress Anne ; or I would Master 
Slender had her ; or, in sooth, I would Master 
Fenton had her : I will do what I can fortliein 
all three ; for so I have promised, and I'll be 
as good as my word ; but speciously for 
Master Fenton. Well, I must of another errand 
to Sir John Falstaff from my two mistresses : 
what a beast am I to slack it 1 [Exit. 

Scene V. A room in the Garter Inn. 
Enter Falstaff ar'd Bardolph, 

Fal. Bardolph, I say, — 

Bard. Here, sir. 

Fal. Go fetch me a quart of sack ; put a 
tojist in't. [Exit Ba7-d.] Have I lived to be 
carried in a basket, like a barrow of butcher's 
offal, and to be thrown in the Thames ? Well, 
if I be served such another trick, I'll have my 
brains ta'en out and buttered, and give them 
to a dog for a new-year's gift. The rogues 
slighted me into tlie river with as little remorse 
as they would have drowned a blind bitcli's 
puppies, fifteen i' the litter: and you may know 
by my size that I have a kind of alacrity in 
sinking ; if the bottom were as deep as hell, I 
should down. I had been drowned, but that 
the shore was shelvy and shallow,— a deatli 
that I abhor ; for the water swells a man ; and 
what a thing should I have been when I had 
been swelled ! I should have been a mountain 
of mummy. 

Re-enter Bardolph vjith sack. 

Bard. Here's Mistress Quickly, sir, to speak 
with you. iil 

Fal. Come, let me pour in some sack to the 
Thames water ; for my belly's as cold as if I 
had swallowed snowballs for pills to cool the 
reins. Call her in. 

Bard. Come in, woman ! 

Enter Mistress Quickly. 

Quick. By your leave ; I cry you mercy : 
give your worship good morrow, 

Fal. Take away tliese chalices. Go brew 
me a ix)ttle of sack finely. 30 

Bard. With eggs, sir ? 

Fal. Simple of itself ; I'll no i)ullet-sperra 
in my brewage. [Exit Bardolph.] How now ! 

Quick. Marry, sir, I come to your worship 
from Mistress Ford. 

Fal. Mistress Ford ! I have had ford 



Scene v.] 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



527 



enough ; I was thrown into the ford ; I have 

my bell}' full of ford. 

Quick. Alas the day ! good heart, that was 
not her fault : she does so take ou with her 
men ; they mistook their erection. 41 

Fal. So did I niiue, to build upon a foolish 
woman's promise. 

Qv.ick. Well, she laments, sir, for it, that 
it would yearn your heart to see it. Her hus- 
band goes this nioruiuga-birding ; she desires 
you once more to come to her between eight 
and nine : I must carry her word quickly : 
she'll make you amends, I warrant you. 

Fal. Well, I will visit her : tell her so ; and 
bid her think what a man is : let her consider 
his frailty, and then judge of my merit. 52 

Qukk'. I will tell her. 

Fal. Do so. Between nine and ten, savest 
thou ? 

Quick. Eight and nine, sir. 

Fal. Well, be gone : I will not miss her. 

Quick. Peace be with you, sir. \^Exit. 

Fal. I marvel I hear not of Master Brook ; 
he sent me word to stay within : I like his 
money well. O, here becomes. 60 

Enter Ford. 

Fonl. Bless you, sir ! 

Fal. Now, master Brook, you come to know 
what hath passed between me and Ford's 
wife ? 

Fonl. That, indeed. Sir John, is my busi- 
ness. 

Fal. Master Brook, I will not lie to you : I 
was at her house the hour she appointee! me. 

Ford. And sped you, sir? 

Fal. Very ill-favoredly, Master Brook. 

Ford. How so, sir ? Did she change her 
determination ? 70 

Fal. No, master Brook ; but the peaking 
Coruuto her husband, Master Brook, dwelling 
in a continual 'larum of jealousy, comes me in 
the instant of our encounter, after we had em- 
braced, kissed, protested, and, as it were, 
spoke the prologue of our comedy ; and at his 
heels a rabble of his companions, thither pro- 
voked and instigated by his distemper, and, 
forsooth, to search his house for his wife's 
love. 

Ford. What, while you were there ? 80 

Fal. While I was there. 

Ford. And did he search for you, and could 
not find you ? 

Fal. You shall hear. As good luck would 
have it, comes in one Mistress Page ; gives 
intelligence of Ford's approach ; and, in her 
invention and Ford's wife's distraction, thej' 
conveyed me into a buck-basket. 

Ford. A buck-basket ! 

Fal. By the Lord, a buck-basket ! rammed 
me in with foul shirts and smocks, socks, foul 
stockings, greasy napkins ; that. Master 
Brook, there was the rankest compound of 
villanous smell that ever offended nostril. 

Ford. And how long lay you there ? 

Fai. Nay, you shall hear, Master Brook« | 



what I have suffered to bring this woman to 
evil for your good. Being thus crammed in 
the basket, a couple of Ford's knaves, his 
hinds, were called forth by their mistress to 
carry me in the name of foul clothes to 
Datchet-lane : they took me on their shoulders ; 
met the jealous knave their master in the door, 
who asked them once or twice what they had 
in their basket : I quaked for fear, lest tlie 
lunatic knave would have searched it ; but' 
fate, ordaining he should be a cuckold, held 
his hand. Well : on went he for a search, and 
away went I for foul clothes. But mark the 
sequel, Master Brook : I suffered the pangs of 
three several deaths ; first, an intolerable 
fright, to be detected with a jealous rotten 
bell-wether ; next, to be compassed, like a 
good bilbo, in the circumference of a peck, hilt 
to point, heel to head ; and then, to be stopped 
in, hke a strong distillation, with stinking 
clothes that fretted in their own grease : think 
of that, — a man of my kidney,— think of 
that,— that am as subject" to heat as butter ; a 
man of continual dissolution and thaw: it was 
a miracle to scape sutfocation. And in the 
height of this bath, when 1 was more than half 
stewed in grease, like a Dutch dish, to be 
thrown into the Thames, and cooled, glowing 
hot, in that surge, like a horse-shoe ; think of 
that,— hissing hot, — think of that, Master 
Jirook. 

Ford. In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that 
for my sake you have suffered all this.' My 
suit then is desperate; you'll undertake her 
no more ? 

Fal. Master Brook, I will be thrown into 
Etna, as 1 have been into Thames, ere I will 
leave her thus. Her husband is this morning 
gone a-birdiug : I have received from her an- 
other embassy of meeting ; 'twixt eight and 
nine is the hour, Master Brook. 

Ford. 'Tis past eight already, sir. 

Fal. Is it ? I will then address me to my 
appointment. Come to me at your convenient 
leisure, and you shall know how I speed ; and 
the conclusion shall be crowned with your en- 
joying her. Adieu. You shall have her, 
Master Brook ; Master Brook, you shall cuck- 
old Ford. ' [Erit. 

Ford. Hum ! ha ! is this a vision ? is this 
a dream ? do 1 sleep ? Master Ford , awake ! 
awake, Master Ford ! there's a hole made iu 
your best coat, Master Ford, This 'tis to be 
married ! this 'tis to have linen and buck- 
baskets ! Well, I will i)roclaim myself what 
I am : 1 will now take the lecher ; he is at my 
house ; he cannot 'scape me : 'tis inn>ossible 
he should ; he cannot creep into a halfpeimy 
purse, nor into a pepper-box: but, lest the devil 
that guides him should aid him, I will search 
impossible places. Though what I am 1 can- 
not avoid, yet to be what I would not shall not 
make me tame : if I have horns to make one 
mad, let the proverb go with me : I'll be horn- 
mad. 



628 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



(Act i;vx 



ACT IV. 
Scene I. A street. 

Enter Mistress Page, Mistkess Quickly, 
and "William. 

Mrs. Far/e. Is he at Master Ford's already, 
think'st thou ? 

* Quick. Sure he is by this, or will be pres- 
ently : but, truly, he is very courageous mad 
about his throwinj^ iuto the water. Mistress 
Ford desires you to come suddenly. 

Mrs. Fuf/e. I'll be with her by and by ; I'll 
but bring my young man here to school. Look, 
where his master comes ; 'tis a playing-day, I 
see. 

Enter Sir Hugh Evans. 
How now, Sir Hugh ! no scliool to-day ? 10 

E(^uas. No ; Master Slender is let the boys 
leave to play. 

Quick. Blessing of his heart ! 

Mrs. P<((/e. Sir Hugh, my husband says my 
son proHts nothing in the world at his book. I 
pray you, ask him so»ie questions in his acci- 
dence, [head ; come. 

Elhius. Come hither, William ; hold up your 

Mrs. Paije. Come on, sirrah ; hold up your 
head ; answer your master, be not afraid. 20 

Ecans. William, how many numbers is in 
nouns ? 

Will. Two. 

Quick. Truly, I thought there had been one 
number more, because they say. ' 'Od's 
nouns.' 

Evans. Peace your tattlings! Whut is 
'fair,' William? 

Will. Pulcher. 

Quick. Polecats! there are fairer things 
than polecats, sure. oO 

Erans. You are a very simplicity 'omau : I 
pray you, peace. What is ' lapis,' William ? 

Will. A stone. 

Evans. And what is 'a stone,' William ? 

Will. A pebble. 

Emms. No, it is 'lapis:' I jmiy you, re- 
menil)er in your prain. 

Will. Lapis. 

Eranti. That is a good William. What is he, 
William, that does lend articles ? 40 

Will. Articles are borrowed of the pronoun, 
and be thus declined, Singulariter, nominativo, 
hie, hiec, hoc. 

Evans. Nominativo, hig, hag, hog ; pray 
you, mark : genitivo, hujus. Well, what is 
your accusative case ? 

Will. Accusative, hinc. 

Evans. I pray yon, liave your remembrance, 
child ; accusativo, hung, liang, hog. 

Quick. ' Hang-hog ' is Latin for baton, 1 
warrant you. 51 

Evans. Leave your i)rabbles, 'omau. What 
is the locative case, William ? 

Will. O,— vocativo, O. 

Evans. Remember, William ; locative is 
caret. 



Quick. And that's a good root. 

Evans. 'Oman, forbear. 

Mrs. Page. Peace ! 

Evans. What is your genitive case pIoraL 
William ? 60 

Will. Genitive case ! 

Evans. Ay. 

Will. Genitive, — horuin, harum, hofiun. 

Quick. Vengeance of Jenny's case ! fie on 
her ! never name her, child, if she be a whore 

Evans. For shame, 'ouian. 

Quick. You do ill to teach the child such 
words : lie teaches liim to hick and to hack, 
which tlie^r'U do fast en-jugh of themselves, 
and to call ' horum : ' lie upon you ! 70 

Evans. 'Oman, art thou lunatics? hast 
thou 110 understiindiugs for thy cases and the 
numbers of the genders ? Thou art as foolish 
Christian creatures as I would desires. 

3Irs. Page. Prithee, hold thy peace. 

Evans. Show me now, AVilliam, some de- 
clensions of your ijionouiis. 

Will. Forsooth, I have forgot. 

Evans. It is qui, qu;e, quod : if you forget 
j-our 'quies,' your 'qu;es,' and your 'quods,' 
you must be preeches. Go your ways, and 
play ; go. [thought he was. 

Mrs. Page. He is a better scholar than I 

Evans. He is a good sprag memory. Faie- 
well. Mistress Page. 

Mrs. Page. Adieu, good Sir Hugh. 

[Exit ,Sir Hugh.] 
Get j'ou home, boy. Come, we stay too long. 

[Exeunt 

Scene IL A room in Ford's house. 

Enter Yalstaff and Mistress Ford. 

F(d. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten 
up my sufferance. I see you are obsequious 
in your love, and I profess requital to a hair's 
breadth ; not only, Mistress F.rd, in the 
simple office of love, but in all tlie accoutre- 
ment, complement and ceremony of it. But 
are you sure of your husband now ? 

3irs. Ford. He's a,-birding, sweet Sir John. 

Mrs. Page. [Within] What, ho, gossin 
Ford ! wliat, ho ! 10 

Mrs. Ford. Step into the chamber. Sir John. 
[Exit Falstaff. 
Enter Mistress Page. 

Mrs. Page. How now, sweetheart 1 who's 
at home besides yourself ? 

Mrs. Ford. Why, none but mine own 
jjeople. 

Mrs. Page. Indeed I 

Mrs. Ford. No, certainly. [Aside to her] 
Speak louder. 

3frs. Page. Truly, I am so glad you have 
nobody here. 
. Mrs. Ford. Why ? 20 

3Irs. Page. Why, woman, your husband is 
in his old lunes again : he so takes on yonder 
with my husband ; so rails against all married 
mankind ; so curses all Eve's daughters, of 
wliAt complexion soever ; and so buffets him 



Scene ii.] 



777^ MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR 



529 



self oil tlie forehead, crying, ' Peer out, peer 
out ! ' that any madness I ever yet beheld 
seemed but tameness, civility and patieuce, to 
this his distemper he is in now : I am glad the 
fat knight is uot here. 

Mrs. Ford. Why, does he ttilk of him ? 30 

J/;v<i. Pa'je. Of none but him ; and swears 
lie was carried out, the last time he searched 
for him, in a basket ; protests to my husband 
lie is now here, and hath drawn him and the 
rest of their company from their sport, to make 
smother experiment of his suspicion : but I 
am glad the knight is not here ; now he shall 
see his own foolery. 

Mrs. Ford. How near is he. Mistress Page ? 

Mrs. Par/c. Hard by ; at street end ; he 
will be here anon. 41 

Mrs. Ford. I am undone ! The knight is 
here. 

Mrs. Page. Why then you are utterly 
nhamed, and he's but a dead man. What a 
woman are you ! — Away with him, away with 
him ! better shame than murder. 

Mrs. Ford. Which way should he go ? how 
should I bestow him? Shall I put him into 
the basket again ? 

Re-enter Falstaff. 

Fal. No, I'll come no more i' the basket. 
May I jKit go out ere he come ? 51 

Mrs. Pui/e. Alas, three of blaster Ford's 
brotliers watch the door witli pistols, that none 
shall issue out ; otherwise you might slip 
away ere he came. But what make you here ? 

Fill. What shall I do ? I'll creep up into 
the chimney. 

Mrs. Ford. There they always use to dis- 
charge their birding-pieces. Creep into the 
kilu-liole. 

FuL Where is it ? GO 

Mrs. ?\ird. He will seek there, on my word. 
Neitlier press, coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, 
but ho hath an abstract for the remembrance 
of such places, and goes to them by his note : 
there is no hiding you in the house. 

Fed. I'll go out then. 

Mrs. Page. If you go out inyourowu sem- 
blance, you die, Sir John. Unless you go out 
disguise'd— G9 

Mrs. Ford. How might we disguise him ? 

Mrs. Page. Alas the day, I know not ! 
There is no woman's gown big enough for 
him ; otlicrwise he might put on a hat, a 
muffler and a kerchief, and so escape. 

F(d. Good hearts, devise something : any 
extremitv rather than a mischief. 

Mrs. Ford. 5Iy maid's aunt, the fat woman 
of Brentford, has a gown above. 

Mrs. Page. On my word, it will servehim; 
she's as big as he is: and there's her thrummed 
hat and her muffler too. Run up. Sir John. 

Mrs Ford. Go, go, sweet Sir. Tohn: Mistress 
Fase and I will look some linen for your head. 

Mrs. Page. Quick, quick ! we'll come dress 

you straight : put on the gown the while. 81 

iExit Falstaff. 



Mrs. Ford. I would my luisband would 
meet him in this shape : lie cannot abide the 
old woman of Brentford ; he swears she's a 
witch ; forbade her juy house and hath threat- 
ened to beat her. 

Mrs. Page. Heaven guide him to thy hus- 
band's cudgel, and the devil guide his cudgel 
afterwards ! 

Mrs. Ford. But is my husband coming ? 

Mrs. Page. Ah, in good sadness, is he; 
and talks of the basket too, howsoever lie 
hath had intelligence. 

Mrs. Ford. We'll try that ; for I'U appoint 
ray men to carry the basket again, to meet 
him at the door with i'. as they did last time. 

Mrs. Page. Nay, but he'll be here presently: 
let's go dress him like the witch of Brentford. 

Mrs. Ford. I'll first direct my men what 
they shall do with the basket. Go up ; I'll 
bring linen for him straight. [Exit. 

Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest varlet ! 
we cannot misuse him enough. 

We'll leave a proof, by that which we will 
do, 

Wives may be merry, and yet honest too : 

We do not act that often jest and laugh ; 

'Tis old, but true, Still swine eat all the 
draff. [Exit. 

Re-enter Mistress Ford loith two Servants. 

3Trs. Ford. Go, sirs, take the basket again 
on your shoulders : your master is hard at 
door ; if he bid you set it down, obey him : 
quickly, dispatch. [Exit. 

First Serv. Come, come, take it up. 

Sec. Serv. Pray heaven it be uot full of 
knight again. 

I ist Serv. I hope not ; I had as lief bear so 
much lead. 

Filter Ford, Page, Shallow, Caius, and 
Sir Hugh Evans. 

Ford. Ay, but if it prove true. Master 
Page, have you any way then to unfool me 
again ? Set down the basket, villain ! Some- 
body call my wife. Youth iu a basket! O 
you panderly rascals ! there's a knot, a ging, 
a pack, a conspiracy against me : now shall 
the devil be shamed. What, wife, I say ! 
Come, come forth ! Behold what honest 
clothes you send forth to bleaching ! 

Page. Why, this passes. Master Ford ; you 
are not to go loose any longer ; you must be 
pinioned. 

Evans. Why, this is lunatics ! this is nuid 
as a mad dog ! 131 

Shal. Indeed, Master Ford, this is not well, 
indeed. 

Ford. So say I too, sir. 

Re-enter Mistress Ford. 
Come hither. Mistress Ford ; Mistress Ford, 
the honest woman, the modest wife, the 
virtuous creature, that hath the jealous -ool 
ti her husband ! I suspect witnout cause 
mistress, do I ? 

84 



500 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



I Act IV. 



Mrs. Ford. Heaven be my witness you do, 
if you suspect me in any dishonesty. 140 

Ford. Well said, brazen-face ! hold it out. 
Come forth, sirrah ! 

[Fulling clothes out of the basket. 

Page. This passes ! 

Mi-s. Ford. Are you not ashamed ? let the 
filothes alone. 

Ford. I shall find you anon. 

Evans. 'Tis unreasonable ! Will you take 
jip your wife's clothes ? Come away. 

Ford. Empty the basket, I say ! 

Mrs. Ford. Why, man, why ? 150 

Ford. Master Page, as I am a man, there 
was one conveyed out of my house yesterday 
in this basket ; why may not he be there 
again ? In my house I am sure he is : my in- 
telligence is true ; my jealousy is reasonable. 
Pluck me out all the linen. 

Mrs. Ford. If you find a man there, he 
shall die a flea's death. 

Page. Here's no man. 

Sh'al. By my fidelity, this is not well, Master 
Ford ; this wrongs you. 161 

Evans. Master Ford, you must pray, and 
not follow the imaginations of your own 
heart : this is jealousies. 

Ford. Well, he's not here I seek for. 

Page. No, nor nowhere else but in your 
brain. 

Ford. Help me search my house this one 
time. If I find not what I seek, show no 
color for my extremity; let me forever be 
your table-sport; let them say of me, 'As 
jealous as Ford, that searched a hollow walnut 
for his wife's leman.' Satisfy me once more ; 
once more search with me. 

Mrs. Ford. What, ho, Mistress Page ! come 
you and the old woman down ; my husband 
will come into the chamber. 

Ford. Old woman ! what old woman's 
that ? [Brentford. 

Mrs. Ford. Why, it is my maid's aunt of 

Ford. A witch, a quean, an old cozeniuii 
quean ! Have I not forbid her my house ? 
She comes of errands, does she ? We are 
simple men ; we do not know what's brought 
to pass under the profession of fortune-telling. 
She works by charms, by spells, by the figure, 
and such daubery as this is, beyond our ele- 
ment: we know nothing. Come down, you 
witch, you hag, you ; come down, I say ! 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, good, sweet husband ! 
Good gentlemen, let him not strike the old 
woman. 190 

Re-enter Falstaff in woman's clothes, and 
Mistress Page. 

Mrs. Page. Come, Mother Prat ; come, give 
me your hand. 

Ford. I'll prat her. [Beating him] Out of 
my door, you witch, you hag, you baggage, 
you polecat, you ronyon ! out, out ! I'll con- 
jure you, I'll fortune-tell you. [Exit Falstaff. 

Mrs. Page. Are you not ashamed ? I think 
you have killed the poor woman, 



Mrs. Ford. Nay, he will do it. 'Tis a goodly 
credit for you. 200 

Ford. Hang her, witch ! 

Evans. By yea and no, I think the 'oman is 
a witch indeed : I like not when a 'oman has a 
great peard ; I spy a great peard under his 
muffler. 

Ford. Will you follow, gentlemen ? 1 be» 
seech you, follow ; see but the issue of my 
jealousy: if 1 cry out thus upon no trail, never 
trust me when I open again. 

Page. Let's obey his humor a little further : 
come, gentlemen. 211 

[Exeunt Ford, Page, ShaL, Cains, and Evans. 

Mrs. Page. Trust me, he beat him most 
pitifully. 

Mrs. Ford. Nay, by the mass, that he did 
not ; he beat him most unpitif uUy, methought. 

Mrs. Page. I'll have the cudgel hallowed 
and hung o'er the altar ; it hath done merito- 
I'ious service. 

Mrs. Ford. What think you ? may we, with 
the warrant of womanhood and the witness of 
a good conscience, pursue him with any further 
revenge ? 222 

Mrs. Page. The spirit of wantonness is, sure, 
scared out of him : if the devil have him not 
in fee-simple, with fine and recovery, he will 
never, I think, in the way of waste, attempt us 
again. 

Mrs. Ford. Shall we tell our husbands how 
we have served him ? 

Mrs. Page. Yes, by all means ; if it be but 
to scrape the figures out of your husband's 
brains. If they can find in their hearts the 
poor unvirtuous fat knight shall be any further 
afflicted, we two will stiU be the ministers. 

3frs. Ford. I'll warrant they'll have hrm 
publicly shamed : and methinks there would 
be no period to the jest, should he not be 
publicly shamed. 

Mrs. Page. Come, to the forge with it 
then ; shape it : I would not have things cool. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. A room in the Garter Inn. 
Enter Host and Bardolph. 

Bard. Sir, the Germans desire to have three 
of your horses : the duke himself will be to- 
morrow at court, and they are going to meet 
him. 

Host. What duke should that be comes so 
secretly ? 1 hear not of him in the court. Let 
m% speak with the gentlemen : they speak 
English ? 

Bard. Ay, sir ; I'll call them to you. 

Host. They shall have my horses ; but I'll 
make them pay; I'll sauce them : they have 
bc»d my house a week at command ; I have 
turned away my other guests : they must come 
off ; I'll sauce them. Come. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. A room in Ford's house. 

Enter Page, Ford, Mistress Page, Mistress 
Ford, and. Sir Hugh Evans, 



iSCENE V.l 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



531 



Evans. 'Tis one of the best discretions of a 
'oiuaii as ever I did look upon. 

Puj/c. And did he send you botli these let- 
ters at an instant? 

Mrti. Ptuji . Within a (juarler of an hour. 
Fvvil. Tanidri me, wife. Henceforth do 
what, thou wilt ; 
I ratliei' will suspect the sun witli cold 
riian thee with wantonness : now doth thy 

honor staiul, 
in liiui tliut was ot late an lieretic, 
As tiiiu as faith. 

I'l-iiic 'Tis well, 'tis well ; uo more: 10 

Be not as extreme in submission 
As in offence. 

Hut let our plot p) forward : let our wives 
Yet once aj;ain, t<) make us public sport. 
Appoint a meeting with this old fat fellow, 
Where we may t;iUe him and disgrace him for 
it. 
Finl. There is no better way than that they 

spoke of. 
P(i<i(. How ? to send him word they'll meet 
him in llie park at midnight ? Fie, fie ! he'll 
never come. 

Kratin. You say he has ))een thrown in the 
rivers and has been grievously peaten as an 
o\<\ "oman : methinks there should be terrors 
in iiim that he should not come; methinks his 
llesh is imnished, lie shall have no desires. 
I'age 80 think I too. 

.1y/s. Fin!. Devise but liow you'll use him 
w.ien he comes, 
And let us two devise to bring him thither. 
Mm. Pdije. There is an old Uile goes that 
Heme the hunter. 
Sometime a keeper here in "SMudsor forest, 
Doih all the winter-time, at still midnight, .1O 
Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd 

horns ; 
And there he bla.sts the tree and takes the 
cattle [a chain 

And makes milch-kiue yield l)lood and shakes 
In a most hideous and (Ireadful manner : 
You liave heard of such a spirit, and well you 

know 
The superstitious idle-headed eld 
Received and did deliver to our age 
This tale of Heme the hunter for a truth. 
Pdif. Why, yet there want not many that 
do fear' 
III deci) of night to walk by this Kerne's oak: 
But what of this? 41 

.V/-.*. F'ird. Marry, this is our device ; 

That FalstalT at tliat oak shall meet with us. 
Paijr. Well, let it not be doubted but he'll 
come : 
And in this shape when you have brought him 

thither. 
What shall be done with him ? what is your 
plot ? 
.V/*.«. Pwic. That likewise have we thought 
upon, and thus : 
Nan Page my daughter and ray little son 
And three or four more of their growth we'll 
dresg 



Like urchins, ouphes and fairies, green and 
white, 49 

With rounds of waxen tapers on their lieads, 
And rattles in their hands : upon a sudden, 
As Falstaff, she and I. art; newly met, 
liCt them from forth a sawpit rush at once 
With some diffused song : upon their sight, 
We two in great amazedness v ill lly : 
Then let them all encircle him aboiit 
And, fairy-like, to-pinch the unclean knight 
And ask him wiiy, that luiur of iairy revel, 
In their so sacred paths he dares to tread 
In shape i)rofane. 

3//VS. Ford. And till he tell the truth, 60 
Let the supposed fairies pinch him sound 
And burn him witii their tajjcrs. 

iVr.s. Pu(i<\ The truth being linown, 

We'll all present ourselves, dis-horn the spirit, 
And mock him home to W^indsor. 

Ford. The children must 

Be practiced well to this, or they'll ne'er dot. 

Erans. I will teach the children their be- 
haviors; and I will be like a jack-an-apes also, 
to burn the knight with my tJiber. 

Ford. That will be excellent. I'll go and 
buy them vizards. 70 

Mrs. Page. My Nan shall be the queen of 
all the fairies. 
Finely attired in a robe of white. 
Pa(j<'. That silk will 1 go buy. [A.'^iilc] And 
in that time 
Shall Master Slender steal my Nan away 
And marry her at Eton. Godsend to FalstalT 
straight. 
Ford. Nay, I'll to him again in name of 
Brook : 
He'll tell me all his jnirpose: sure, he'll come. 
Mrs. Pof/c. Fear not you that. Go get us 
]iroperties 
And tricking for our fairies. 

Evans. Let us about it : it is admiralile 
pleasures and fery honest knaveries 81 

[EzemU Puf/e, Ford, and Eraji.f. 
Mrs. Pa<je. Go, Mistress Ford, 
Send quickly to Sir John, to know his mind. 

[FjiI Mrs. Ford. 
I'll to the doctor : he hath my good will. 
And none but he, to marry with Nan I'age. 
That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot ; 
And he my husband best of all affects. 
The doctor is well money'd, and his friends 
Potent at court : he, none but he, shall have 

her, 
Though twenty thousand worthier come to 
crave her. {Exil. UU 

Scene V. A room in the Garter Inn. 
Enter Host and Simple. 

Host. What wouldst thou have, boor ? what, 
thick-skin ? speak, breathe, discuss ; brief, 
short, quick, .snap. 

Sim. Marry, sir, I come to speak with Sit 
John Falstaff from Master Slender. 

Host. There's his chamber, his house, hio 
castle, his t>taudiu§-bcd and truckle-bed ; 'tis 



532 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



[Act it. 



painted about with the story of the Prodigal, 
fresh and new. Go knock and call ; he'll speak 
like an Anthropophaginian uuto thee : knock, 
I say. 11 

Sim. There's an old woman, a fat woman, 
gone up into his chamber: I'll be so bold as 
stay, sir, till she come down ; I come to si)eak 
witli her, indeed. 

Host, lla ! a fat woman ! the knight may 
be robbed : I'll call. Bully knight ! bully Si'r 
John ! speak from thy lungs military: art thou 
there ? it is thine host, tliine Ephesian, calls. 

Fill. [Above] How now, mine host ! 20 

Host. Here's a Bohemian-Tartar t:irries the 
coming down of thy fat woman. Let her de- 
scend, bully, let her descend ; my chambers 
are honorable : fie ! privacy ? fie ! 

Enter Falstaff. 

Fill. There was, mine host, an old fat woman 
even now with me ; but she's gone. 

!Sim. Pray you, sir, was't not the wise 
woman of Brentford ? 

F(d. Ay, marry, was it, mussel-shell : what 
would you with her ? 30 

Sim. My master, sir. Master Slender, sent 
to her, seeing her go tlirough the streets, to 
know, sir, whether one Nym, sir, that beguiled 
him of a chain, had the chain or no. 

Fid. I spake with the old woman about it. 

Sim. And what says she, I jjray, sir ? 

F\d. Marry, she .says that the very same 
man that beguiled Master Sleiider of his chain 
cozened him of it. 

Sim. I would I could have spoken witli the 
woman herself ; I had other things to have 
spoken with her too from him. 42 

Fed. What are they ? let us know. 

Host. Ay, come ; quick. 

Sim. I may not conceal them, sir. 

Host. Conceal them, or thou diest. 

Sim. Wliy, sir, they were nothing but about 
Mistress Anne Page ; to know if it were my 
nuister's fortune to have her or no. 

Fal. 'Tis, 'tis his fortune. 50 

Sim. What, sir ? 

Fid. To have her, or no. Go ; say the 
woman told me so. 

Sim. May I be bold to say so, sir ? 

Fid. Ay, sir ; like who more bold. 

Sim. I thank your worship : I shall make 
my master glad with these tidings. [Exit. 

Host. Thou art clerkly, thou art clerkly. Sir 
John. Was there a wise woman with thee ? 

Fid. Ay, that there was, mine host ; one 
that hath taught me more wit than ever I 
learned before in my life ; and I paid nothing 
for it neither, but was paid for my learning. 

Enter Bakdolph. 

Bard. Out, alas, sir! cozenage, mere cozen- 
age ! 

Host. Where be my horses ? speak well of 
them, varletto. 

Bard. Run away with the cozeners ; for so 
soon as I came beyond Eton, they threw me 



off from behind one of them, in a slough of 
mire ; and set spurs and aAvay, like three Ger- 
man devils, three Doctor Faustiises. 71 

]Io.st. They are gone but to meet the duke, 
villain : do not say they be fled ; Germans are 
honest men. 

Enter Sir Hugh Evans. 

Erans. Where is mine host ? 

Host. What is the matter, sir ? 

Enins. Have a care of your entertainments : 
there is a friend of mine come to town, tells me 
there is three cozeu-germans that has cozened 
all the ho.sts of Readins, of Maidenhead, of 
Colebrook, of horses and money. I tell you 
for good will, look you : you are wise and full 
of gibes and vlouting-stocks, and 'tis not con- 
venient you should be cozened. Fare you 
well. [Exit. 

Enter Doctor Caius. 

Cains. Vere is mine host de Jarteer ? 

Host. Here, master doctor, in jjerplexity 
and doubtful dilemma. 

Cains. I cannot tell vat is dat: but it is 
tell-a me dat you make grand preparation for 
a duke de Jamany : by my trot, dere is no 
duke dat the court is know to come. I tell you 
for good vill : adieu. [Exit. 91 

Host. Hue and cry, villain, go ! Assist me, 
knight. 1 am undone ! Fly, run, hue and cry, 
villain ! I am undone ! 

[Exeunt Host and Bard. 

Fal. I would all the world mig'.t be coz- 
ened ; for I have been cozened and beaten too. 
If it sliould come to the ear of the court, how 
I have been transformed and how my trans- 
formation hath been washed and cudgelled, 
they would melt me out of my fat drop by drop 
and liquor fishermen s boots with jne ; I war- 
rant tliey would whip me with their fine wits 
till I were as crest-fallen as a dried pear. I 
never prospered since I forswore myself at 
primero. AV'ell, if my wind were but long 
enough to say my prayers, I would repent. 

Enter Mistress Quickly. 
Now, whence come you ? 

Quick. From the two parties, forsooth. 

Fal. The devil take one party and his dam 
the other ! and so they shall be both bestowed. 
1 have suffered more for their sakes, more 
than the villanous inconstancy of man's dis- 
position is able to bear. 

Quick. And have not they suffered ? Yes, 
I warrant ; .speciously one of them ; Mistress 
Ford, good heart, is beaten black and blue, 
that you cannot see a white spot about her. 

Fell. What tellest thou me of black and 
blue? I was beaten myself into all the colors 
of the rainbow ; and I was like to be apjue- 
hendcd for the witch of Brentford : but that 
my admirable dexterity of wit, my counter- 
feiting tlie action of an old woman, delivoicd 
me, tlie knave constable had set me i' the 
stocks, i' the common stocks, for a witch. 

Quick. Sir, let me speak with you in your 



Scene i:.] 



TEE MEBRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



533 



cham.ber : you shall hear how things go ; and, 
1 warrant, to your content. Here is a letter 
will say somewhat. Good hearts, what ado 
liei-e is to bring you together ! Sure, one of 
you does not serve heaven well, that you are 
so crossed. 130 

Fal, Come up into my chamber. [Exeiint. 

Scene VI. Another room in the Garter 
Inn. 

Enter Fenton and Host. 

Host. Master Fenton, talk not to me ; my 
mind is heavy : I will give over all. 
Fent. Yet hear me speak. Assist me in my 

purpose, 
And, as I am a gentleman, I'll give thee 
A hundred pound in gold more than your lo.ss. 
Host. I will hear you. Master Fenton ; and 
I will at tl>e least keep your counsel. [you 

Fi'nt. From time to time I have acquainted 
With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page ; 
Who mutually hath answer' d my affection, 10 
So far forth as herself miglit be her chooser, 
Kveu to my wish : I h^ive a letter from her 
Of such contents as you will wonder at ; 
The mirth whereof so larded with my matter. 
That neither singlv can be manifested. 
Without the show'of both ; fat Falstaflf 
Hath a great scene : the image of the jest 
I'll show you here at large. Hark, good mine 

host. 
To-night at Heme's oak, ju.st 'twixt twelve 

and one, 19 

Must my sweet Nan present the Fairy Queen; 
Tlie piir|)<)se why, is here : in which disguise, 
Wiiile other jests are something rank ou foot. 
Her father hath commanded her to slip 
Away with Slender and with him at Eton 
Immediately to marry : she hath consented : 
Now, sir, 

Her mother, ever strong against that match 
And tirm for Doctor Caius, hath appointed 
Tiiat he .shall likewise shuffle her away, 29 
While other sports are tasking of their minds. 
And at the de;inery, where a priest attends, 
Straight marry her : to this her mother's plot 
She seemingly obedient likewise hath 
Made promise to the doctor. Now, thus it 

rests : 
Her father means she shall be all in white. 
And in that habit, when Slender sees his time 
To take her by the hand and bid her go, 
She shall go with him : her mother hath in- 
tended. 
The better to denote her to the doctor, 
For tliey must all be mask'd and vizarded, 40 
Tlv.tciuaint in green she .shall be loose enrobed. 
With ribands pendent, flaring 'bout her head; 
And when tlie doctor si)ies his vantage ripe, 
To pinch her by the hand, and, on that token. 
The maid hath given consent to go with him. 
Host. Which means she to deceive, father 

or mother ? 
Fent. Both, my good host, to go along with 

me : 



And here it rests, that vou'll procure the vicar 
To stay for me at church 'twixt twelve and one, 
And, in the lawful name of marrying, 50 

To give our hearts united ceremony. 

7/o.s^ Well, husband your device ; I'll to 
the vicar : 
Bring you the nuiid, you shall not lack a priest. 

Fent. So shall I evermore be bound to thee; 
Besides, I'll make a present recompense. 

[Exeitnt. 



ACT V. 

Scene I. A room in the Garter Inn. 

Enter Fal.staff and Mistress Quickly. 

Fal. Prithee, no more prattling ; go. I'll 
hold. This is the third time; I hope good liu'k 
lies in odd numbers. Away ! go. They say 
there is divinity in odd numbers, either in 
nativity, chance, or death. Away ! 

Quick. I'll provide you a chain ; and I'll do 
what I can to get you a pair of horns. 

Ftil. Away, 1 say ; time wears : hold up 
your head, and mince. [Exit xV/vs. Quickiii. 

Enter Ford. 
How now. Master Brook ! Master Brook, the 
matter will be known to-night, or never. Be 
you in the Park about midnight, at Heme's 
oak, and you shall see wonders. 

Ford. Went you not to her yesterday, sir, 
as you told me you had appointed ? 

Fal. 1 went to her, Master Brook, as you 
see, like a poor old man : but I came from 
her, Master Brook, like a poor old wonuiii. 
That same knave Ford, her husband, hath the 
linest nuid devil of jealousy in liiui, blaster 
Brook, that ever governed frenzy. 1 will tell 
you : he beat me grievously, in the shai)e of a 
woman ; for in the shape of niau. Master 
Brook, I fear not Goliath with a weavers 
beam ; because I know also life is a .shuttle. 
I am in haste ; go along with mc : I'll tell you 
all, Master Brook. Since I plucked geese, 
l)layed truant and whipped top, 1 knew not 
whiit 'twas to be beaten till lately. Follow 
me: I'll tell you strange things of this knave 
Ford, on whom to-night I will be re\enged, 
and I will deliver his wife iuto your hand. 
Follow. Strange things in hand. Master 
Brook- ! Follow. ^ \_Exeunt. 

Scene H. WimUor Park. 
Enter Page, Shalloav, and Slender. 

Par/e. Come, come ; we'll couch i' the 
castle-ditch till we see the light of our fairies. 
Kemember, son Slender, my daughter. 

,SY<'H. Ay, forsooth ; I have siioke with her 
•and we have a nay-word how to know one 
another : 1 come to her in white, and cry 
' mum ; ' she cries ' budget ; ' and by that we 
know oue another. 



534 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



[Act v. 



^hal. That's good too : but what needs 
either your ' mum ' or her ' budget ? ' the 
white will decipher her well enough. It hath 
Btiuck ten o'clock. 

Faf/e. The night is dark ; light and spirits 
Avill become it well. Heaven pn)sper onr 
Bl)ort ! No man means evil but the devil, and 
we shall know him by his horns. Let's away ; 
follow lue. lExeuiU. 

Scene III. A street leadinrf to the Park. 

Enter Mistress Page, Mistress Ford, ami 
DocTOit Caius. 

Mrs. Page. Master doctor, my daugliter is 
ill green : when you see your time, take lier 
by the liand, away with her to the deanery, 
and dispatch it quickly. Go before into tlie 
Park : we two must go together. 

Cuius. 1 know vat 1 have to do. Adieu. 

Mix. Page. Fare you well, sir. [Eyit Cams.'] 
My liusband will not rejoice so much at the 
abuse of Falstaff as ho will chafe at the doc- 
tor's marrying my daughter : bat 'tis no mat- 
ter ; better a little chiding than a gi'eat deal 
of heart-break. 11 

Mrs. Ford. Where is Nan now and her 
troop of fairies, and the Welsh devil Hugh ? 

Mrs. Page. They are all couched in a jjit 
hard by llerue's oak, with obscured lights ; 
which, at the very instant of Falstaff's and 
our meeting, thev will at once display to the 
night. 

Mrs. Ford. That cannot choose but amaze 
him. 

Mrs. Page. If he be not amazed, he will be 
mocked ; if he bo amazed, he will every way 
be mocked. '21 

Mr: Ford We'll betray liiin finely. 

Mrs. i'ayc. Against such lewdslers and their 
lechery 
Those that betray them do no treachery. 

Mrs. Ford. The hour draws on. To the oak, 
to the oak ! {Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Windsor Park. 

Enter Sir Hugh Evans, disguised, zvith others 
as Fairies. 

Evans, Trib, trib, fairies ; come ; and re- 
member your ]):irts : be jjold, 1 pray you ; 
lollow me into the pit ; and when 1 give the 
watch-'tirds, do as 1 pid you : come, come ; 
trib, trih ' [Exeunt. 

Scene V. Another part of the Park. 

Enter Falstaff disguised as Jlerne. 

Fid. The Windsor bell hatli struck twelve ; 
the minute draws on. Now, the hot-blooded 
gods assist me ! Keniember, Jove, thou wast a 
bull lor thv Europa ; love set on thy horns. 
O powerfid love ! that, iii some fesjiects, 
makes a beast a man, in some other, a man a 
Ijeast. Vou wera also, J uyiter, a swan for the 



love of Leda, O omnipotent Love ! how near 
the god drew to the complexion of a goo.se ! 
A fault done first in the form of a beast. O 
.love, a beastly fault ! And then another fault 
iu the semblance of a fowl ; think on't, Jove ; 
a foul fault ! When gods have hot backs, 
Avhat shall poor men do ? For me, L am here 
a Windsor stag ; and the fattestj 1 think, i' the 
forest. Send me a cool rut-time, Jove, or wiio 
can blame me to piss my tallow ? Who comes 
here ? my doe ? 

Enter Mistress Ford and Mistress Page. 

Mrs. Ford. Sir John ! art thou there, ray 
deer ? my male deer ? 

Fal. My doe with the black scut ! Let the 
sky rain potatoes ; let it thunder to the tune 
of Green Sleeves, hail kissing-comfitsand snow 
eriugoes ; let there come a tempest of provo- 
cation, I will shelter me here. 

Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page is come with me, 
sweetheart. 

Fal. Divide me like a bribe buck, each a 
haunch : I will keep my sides to myself, my 
shoulders for the fellov/ of this walk, and my 
liorns 1 bequeath your husbands. Am 1 a 
woodman, ha ? Speak 1 like Heme the hunter? 
Why, now is Cupid a child of conscience ; lie 
nijikes restitution. As 1 am a true spirit, 
welcome ! [A.>/sc -wUhtii. 

Mrs. Page. Alas, what noise ? 

Mrs. Ford. Heaven fomive our sins ! 

Fal. What should this be ? 

ffZ: Page. \ ^^''>'' '''''''^' ' ^^''"-^ '""" '^^- 

Fal. I think the devil will not have me 

daumed, lest the oil that's in me should set 

hell on fire ; he would never else cross me 

thus. 40 

Enter Sir Hugh Ev.\ns, disguised as before ; 
PisTOh, as Jlobi/oblin ; jVIistkkss (iiiCK- 
LY, Anne Page, and others, as J-'airies, 
with tapers. 
Quiek. Fairies, black, grey, green, and 
white, 
You moonshine revellers and shades of night, 
You orphan heirs of fixed destiny. 
Attend your office and your quality. 
Grier Hobgoblin, make the fairy oyes. 
Pist. Elves, list your names ; silence, you 
airy toys. 
Cricket, to Windsor cliinmeys shalt thou leap: 
Where fires thou find'.><t unraked and hearths 

unswejit, 
There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry : 
Our radiant queen hfites sluts and sluttery. 50 
Fal. They are fairies ; he that sjieaks to 
them shall die : 
I'll wink and couch : no man their works musi. 
eye. [Lies doion iipon Jus faee. 

Evaiis. Where's Bede ? Go you, and where 
you find a maid 
That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayera 

said. 
Raise up the organs of her fantasy ; 



SCENK v.] 



THE MERTiY Wl rES OF WINDSOR. 



636 



Sleep she as sound as careless infancy ; 
Buc those as sleep and think not on their sing, 
Piui'h tliem, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, 
sides and shins. 
Quick. About, about ; 
Search Windsor Castle, elves, within and out: 
Strew good luck, ouphes, on every sacred 
room : 61 

That it may stand till the perpetual doom, 
In state as wliolcsome as in state 'tis fit, 
Worthy the owner, and the owner it. 
The several chairs of order look you scour 
AVith juice of balm and every precious flower : 
Each fair instalment, coat, and several crest. 
With loyal blazon, evermore be blest ! 
And nightly, meadow-fairies, look you sing. 
Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring : 70 
The expressure that it bears, green let it be, 
More fertile-fresh than all the field to see ; 
And ' Honi soit qui mal y pense' write 
In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue and 

white ; 
Let sapphire, pearl and rich embroidery, 
Buckled below fair kuigiithood's bending 

knee : 
Fairies use flowers for their charactery. 
Away ; disperse : but till 'tis one o'clock, 
Our dance of custom round about the oak 
Of Heme the hunter, let us not forget. 80 

Evans. Pray you, lock hand iu hand ; your- 
selves iu order set ; 
And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be. 
To guide our measure round about the tree. 
But, stay ; I smell a man of middle-earth. 

Fal. Heavens defend me from that Welsh 
fairy, lest he transform me to a piece of 
cheese ! 
Pist. Vile worm, thou wast o'erlook'd even 

in thy birth. 
Quick. With trial-fire touch me his finger- 
end : 
If he be chaste, the flame will back descend 
And turn him to no pain ; but if he start, 90 
It is the flesh of a corrupted heart. 
Pist. A trial, come. 

Evans. Come, will this wood take fire ? 

[ They burn him with their tapers, 
Fal. Oh, Oh, Oh ! 

Quick. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted iu 
desire ! 
About him, fairies ; sing a scornful rhyme ; 
And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time. 

Song. 

Fie on sinful fantasy ! 

Fie on lust and luxury ! 

Lust is but a bloody fire, 

Kindled with uuchaste desire, 100 

Fed in heart, whose flames aspire 

As thoughts do blow them, higher and 
higher. 

Pinch him, fairies, mutually ; 

Pinch him for his villany ; 
Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about. 
Till caudles and starlight and moonshine be 
out. 



During this song they pinch Falstaff. Doc- 
tor Caius comes one way, and steals away 
a boy in green; Slender another loay, 
and takes off a buy in white ; and Fenton 
comes and steals away Mrs. Anne Page. 
A noise of hunting is heard within. All 
the Fairies run aioay. ■ Falstaff pidls 
off his buck's head, and rises. 

Enter Page, Ford, Mistress Page, and 
Mistress Ford. 

Page. Nay, do not fly ; I think we havo 
watch' d you now : 
Will none but Heme the hunter serve your 
turn ? 

Mrs. Page. I pray you, come, hold up the 

jest no higher. . 

Now, good Sir John, how like you Windsor 

wives ? [yokes 

tSee you these, husband? do not these fair 

Become the forest better than the town ? 

Ford. Now, sir, who's a cuckold now ? 
Master Brook, Falstaff' s a knave, a cuckoldly 
knave ; here are his horns. Master Brook : and. 
Master Brook, he hath enjoyed nothing of 
Ford's but his buck-basket, his cudgel, and 
twenty pounds of money, which must be paid 
to Master Brook ; his horses are arrested for 
it, Master Brook. 

Mrs. Ford. Sir John, we have had ill luck ; 
we could never meet. I will never take you 
for my love again ; but I will always count 
you my deer. 

Fal. I do begin to perceive that I am made 
an ass. 

Ford. Ay, and an ox too : both the proofs 
are extant. 

Fal. And these are not fairies? I was three 
or four times in the thought they were not 
fairies: and yet the guiltiness of my mind, the 
sudden surprise of my powers, drove the 
grossness of the foppery into a received belief, 
in despite of the teeth of all rhyme and reason, 
that they were fairies. See now how wit may 
be made a Jack-a-Lent, when 'tis upon ill em- 
ployment ! 

Evans. Sir John Falstaff, serve Got, and 
leave your desires, and fairies will not pinse 
you. 

Foi'd. Well said, fairy Hugh. 

Evans. And leave your jealousies too, I 
pray you. 140 

Ford. I will never mistrust my wife again, 
till thou art able to woo her in good Englieh. 

Fal. Have I laid my brain in the sun and 
dried it, that it wants matter to prevent so 
gross o'erreaching as this ? Am 1 ridden with 
a Welsh goat too ? shall I have a coxcomb of 
frize ? ' Tis time I were choked with a piece 
of toasted cheese. 

Evans. Seese is not good to give putter ; 
your belly is all putter. 

Fal. 'Seese ' and ' putter ' ! have I lived 
to stand at the taunt of one that makes fritters 
of English ? This is enough to be the decay 
of lust and late-walking through the realm. 



536 



THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



f Act v. 



Mrs. Page. Why, Sir John, do you think, 
thoiigli we would have thrust virtue out of our 
liftii'ts by the head and shoulders and have 
'^iven ourselves without scruple to hell, that 
ever the devil could have made you our de- 
light ? 

^Ford. What, a hodge-pudding ? a bag of 
flax? 

Mrs. Page. A puffed man ? 160 

Page. Old, cold, withered and of intoler- 
able entrails ? 

Ford. And one that is as slanderous as 
Satan ? 

Page. And as poor as Job ? 

Ford. And as wicked as his wife ? 

Erans. And given to fornications, and to 
taverns and sack and wine and raetheglins, 
and to drinkings and swearings and starings, 
pribbles and prabbles ? 

Fal. Well, I am your theme : you have the 
start of me ; I am dejected ; I am not able to 
answer the Welsh flannel ; ignorance itself is 
a plummet o'er me : use me as you will.- 

Fo7-d. Marry, sir, we'll bring you to Wind- 
sor, to one Master Brook, that you have coz- 
ened of money, to whom you should have been 
a pander : over and above that you have suf- 
fered, I think to repay that money will be a 
biting affliction. 

Page. Yet be cheerful, knight : thou shalt 
eat a posset to-night at my house ; where I will 
desire thee to laugh at my wife, that now 
laughs at thee : tell her Master Slender hath 
married her daughter. 

Mrs. Page. [Aside] Doctors doubt that : if 
Anne Page be my daughter, she is, by this, 
Doctor Cains' wife. 

Enter Slender. 

Slen. Whoa, ho ! ho, father Page ! 

Page. Son, how now ! how now, son ! have 
you dispatched ? 

Slen. Dispatched! I'll make the best in 
Gloucestershire know on't ; would I were 
hanged, la, else. 

Page. Of what, son ? 

Slen. I came yonder at Eton to marry Mis- 
tress Anne Page, and she 's a great lubberly 
boy. If it had not been i' the church, I would 
have swinged him, or he should have swinged 
me. If I did not think it had been Anne Page, 
would I might never stir! — and 'tis ,a postmas- 
ter's boy. 

Page. Upon my life, then, you took the 
wrong, 201 

Slen. What need you tell me that? I 
think so, when I took a boy for a girl. If I had 
been married to him, for all he was in woman's 
appiirel, I would not have had him. 

Page. Why, this is your own folly. Did not 
I tell you how you should know my daughter 
by her garments ? 

Slen. I went to her in white, and cried 
' mum,' and she cried ' budget,' as Anne and 
I had appointed ; and yet it was not Anne, 
but a postmaster's boy. * ^ 



Mr.'^. Page. Good George, be not angry : I 
knew of your purpose ; turned my daughter 
into green ; and, indeed, she is now with the 
doctor at the deanery, and there married. 

Enter C'Vius. 

Cains. Vere is Mistress Page ? By gar, I 
am cozened : I ha' married uii gar^on, a boy; 
un paysan, by gar, a boy ; it is not Anne Page: 
by gar, I am cozened. 220 

Mrs. Page. Why, did you take her in 
green ? 

Cains. Ay, by gar, and 'tis a boy : by ";ar, 
I'll raise all Windsor. li^xit. 

Ford. This is strange. Who hath got the 
right Anne ? 

Paga. My heart misgives me : here comes 
Master Fenton. 

Enter Fenton and Anne Page. 

How now, Master Fenton ! 
Anne. Pardon, good father ! good my 

mother, pardon ! 
Page. Now, mistress, how chance you went 
not with INIaster Slender ? 231 

Mrs. Page. Why went you not with master 

doctor, maid ? 
Fent. You do amaze her : hear the truth of 
it. 
You would have married her most shame- 
fully. 
Where there was no proportion held in love. 
The truth is, she and I, long since contracted, 
Are now so sure that nothing can dissolve 

us. 
The offence is holj' that she hath committed ; 
And this deceit loses the name of craft, 
Of disobedience, or luiduteous title, 240 

Since therein she doth evitate and shun 
A thousand irreligious cursed hours, 
AVhich forced marriage would have brought 
upon her. 
Ford. Stand not amazed ; here is no rem- 
edy : 
In love the heavens themselves do guide the 

state ; 

Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate. 

Fai. I am glad, though you have ta'en a 

special stand to strike at me, that your arrow 

hath glanced. 

Page. Well, what remedy ? Fenton, heaven 

give thee joy ! 250 

What cannot be eschew'd must be embraced. 

Fal. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer 

are chased. 
Mrs. Page. Well, I will muse no further. 
Master Fenton, 
Heaven give you many, many merry days ! 
Good husband, let us every one go home. 
And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire ; 
Sir John and all. 

Ford. Let it be so. Sir John, 

To Master Brook you yet shall hold your word; 
For he to-night shall lie with Mistres-s Ford- 

[SixeMiU. 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 

(written about 1598.) 



INTRODUCTION. 

Miicli Ado About Koth'mci -was entered on the Stationer's register, August 23, 1600, and a well* 
priiitt'd (luarto edition appeared in tlie same year. The play is not mentioned by Meres, who wrote 
in 15118, and it is probable therefore that it was written at some time in the interval between \^M 
and U;o0. For the graver portion of the play — the Claudio and Hero story— Shakespeare had an orig- 
inal, perhaps Belleforest's translation in his Histoii—s Tracilquts of Bandello's 2lind Novella. Tha 
story of Ariodante and Genevra in Ariosto's Orkmdo Fitrioso (canto v.) is substantially the same. 
This episode had been translated twice into Englisli before Harrington's complete translation of the 
(hiantio Furioso appeared in ISiil ; and it had formed the subject of a play acted before the Queen 
in 1582-83 ; the story was also told, in a somewhat altered form, by Spen.ser (Faerie Qneeii, 11., 4). No 
original has been found for the merrier jjortiou of the play, and Benedick and Beatrice were prob- 
ably ci-eations of Shakespeare. Much Alio About Nothing n\ as popular on the stage in Shakespeare's 
day, and has sustained its reputation. Its variety, ranging from almost burlesque to almost tragedy, 
and iTova the eupliemistic speech of courtiers to tlie blundering verbosity of clowns, has contributed to 
11k> success of the ])lay- The chief persons. Hero and Claudio, Beatrice and Benedick, are con- 
: astid pairs. Hero's character is kept subdued and quiet in lone, to throw out the force and color 
of the character of Beatrice; she is gentle, allectionate, tender, and if playful, playful in 
a gentle way. If our interest in Hero were made very strong, Jie pain of her unmerited shame 
an I sulferiiig would be too keen. And Claudio is far from being a lover like Komeo ; Ids 
wo.)ing is done by proxy, and he does not sink under the anguish of Hero's disgrace and sup- 
posed death. Don John, the villain of the piece, is a melancholy egoist, who looks sourly on all the 
world, and has a special grudge against his brother's young favorite Claudio. The chief force of Shake- 
speare in the play comes out in the characters of Benedick and Beatrice. They have not a touch of 
misanthropv, nor of sentimentality, but are thoroughly healthy and hearty human creatures; at tirst a 
little too much self-pleased, but framed by-and-by to" be entirely pleased with one another. The 
thoughts of each fiom the tirst are pre-occilpied with the other, biit neither will put self-esteem to the 
hazard of a rebuke of making the first advances in love ; it only needs, however, that this danger 
should be removed for the pair to admit the fact that nature has made them over ag;.inst one an- 
other—as their significant names suggest— for man and wife. Dogberry and Verges, as well as Bea- 
trice and Benedick, are creations of Shakespeare. The blundering watchmen of the time are a 
source of fun with several Elizabethan playwrights; but l>ogberry and goodman ^'erges are the 
princesof bhindeiiiii; and incapable otlicials It is a charming incongruity to find, while Leonalo 
rages and Benedick otters his challenge, that the solemn ass Dogberry is the one to unravel the 
tangled threails of their fate. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Dox Pedro, prince of Arrason. 
Don John, his bastard brother. 
Claudio, a yomij;- lord of Florence. 
Benedick, a younu lord of Padu.a. 
Leonato, governor of IMossiua. 
Antonio, his brotlier. 
Balthasak, .attendant on Don Pedro. 

BoKAo;i;;,|^«"«^«r=^"fi^"'^J'^^'^- 

Friak Francis. 
DoGBKRRv, a constable. 



Verges, a headborough. 
A Sexton. 
A Boy. 

Hero, daughter to Lcon.ito. 
Beatrice, niece to Leonato. 
Maroaret. / gentlewoin.an attending o 
Ursula, \ Hero. 

Messengers, Watch, Attendants, &c. 

Scene : Messina. 

(537) 



538 



mrcPT Abo ABOUT NOTHTNC. 



[Act I. 



\vv I. 

Scene I. Be/ore Lkonato's house. 

Bnter Lkonato, Hkro, and Bkatrick, «'/7/t 
(I Messenger. 

Leon. I learn in this letter that Don Peter 
ol Arragon comes this night to Messina. 

Mess. He is very near by this : he was not 
tliree leagues off when I leit him. 

Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost 
in this action ? 

MeRS. But few of any sort, and none of 
name. 

Leon. A victory is twice itself when the 
achiever brings home full numbers. I find 
here that Don Peter hath bestowed much 
honor on a young Florentine called Claudio. 

Mess. Much deserved on his part and 
equally remembered by Don Pedro : he hath 
borne liimself beyond the lU'omise of his age, 
doing, in the figure of a lamb, the feats of a 
lion : lie liath indeed better liettered expecta- 
tion than yon must expect of me to tell you 
how. 

Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina 
will be very much glad of it. 

Mess. 1 have already delivered him letters, 
and there appears much joy in him ; even so 
nuich that joy could not show itself modest 
enough without a badge of bitterness. 

Loon. Did he break out into tears ? 

Mess. In great measure. 

Leon. A kind overflow of kindness : there 
are no faces truer than those that are so wasli- 
ed. How much better is it to weep at joy than 
to joy at weeping ! 

B'?at. I pi'ay you, is Signior Mountanto re- 
turvied from the wars or no ? 31 

Mess, I know none of that name, lady : 
there was none such in the army of any sort. 

Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece ? 

Hero. My cousin means Signior Benedick 
of Padua. 

Mess. O, he's returned ; and as pleasant as 
ever he was. 

Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina 
and challenged Cupid at the flight ; and my 
uncle's fool, reading the cliallenge, subscribed 
for Cupid, and challenged him at the bird-bolt. 
I pray you, how many hath he killed and eaten 
in these wars ? But how many hath he 
killed ? for indeed I promised to eat all of his 
killing. 

Leon. Faith, niece, you tax Siguier Bene- 
dick too mucli ; but he'll be meet with you, I 
doubt it not. 

Mess. He hath done good service, lady, in 
these wars. 

Biat. You had musty victual, and he hath 
holp to eat it : he is a very valiant ti'encher- 
mau ; he hath an excellent stomach. 

Mess. And a good soldier too, lady. 

Beat. And a good soldier to a lady : but 
wbat is he to a lord 7 



Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man ; 
stuffed with all honorable virtues. 

Beat. It is so, indeed ; he is no less than a 
stuffed man ■ but for tlie stuffing,— well, we are 
all mortal. 60 

Leon. You mu.st not, sir, mistake my niece. 
There is a kind of merry war betwixt Signior 
Benedick .'ind her: they never meet but there's 
a skirmish of wit between them. 

Beat. Alas ! he gets notliing by that. In 
our last conflict four of his five wits went halt- 
ing off, and now is the whole man governed 
with one : so that if he have wit enough to 
keep himself warm, let him bear it for a dif- 
ference between himself and his horse ; for it 
is all the wealth that he hath left, to be known 
a reasonable creature. AVho is his companion 
now ? He hath every month a new sworn 
brother. 

Mess. Ts't possible ? 

Beat. Very ea.sily possible : he wears his 
faith but as the fashion of his hat ; it ever 
changes with the next block. 

Mrss. I .see, ladj% the gentleman is not in 
your books. 

Beat. No ; an lie were, I would burn my 
study. But, I pray you, who is his companion? 
Is there no young squarer now that will make 
a voyage with him to the devil ? 

Mesf!. Hs is most in the company of the 
right noble Claudio. 

Beat. O Lord, he will hang upon him like 
a disease : he is sooner caught than the pesti- 
lence, and the taker runs presently mad. God 
hel)) the noble Chiudio ! if he have caught the 
Benedick, it will cost him a thousand pound 
ere a' be cured. 90 

iT/ess. I will hold friends with you, lady. 

Beat. Do, good friend. 

Leon. You will never run mad, niece. 

Beat. No, not till a hot January. 

Mess. Don Pedro is approached. 

E)iter Dox Pedro, Don Johx, Claudio, 
Benedick, and Balthasar. 

D. Pedro. Good Signior Leonato, you are 
come to meet your trouble : the fashion cf the 
world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it. 

Leon. Never came trouble to my house in 
the likeness of your gi'ace : for trouble being 
gone, comfort should remain ; buf; when you 
depart from me, sorrow abides and happiness 
takes his leave. 

D. Pedro. You embrace your charge too 
willingly. I think this is your daughter. 

Leon. Her mother hath many times told 
me so. 

Bene. Were you in doubt, sij'j that yon 
asked her ? 

Leon. Signior Benedick, uo ; for ;,hen were 
you a child. 

B. Pedro. You have it full. Benedick : we 
may guess by this what you are, being a man. 
Truly, the lady fathers herself. Be happy, 
lady ; for you are like an honorable father. 

Bene. If Signior Leouato be her father, she 



Scene :.] 



MnCH ADO ABOUT NOTBlNO. 



539 



would not have his head on her shoulders for 
all Messina, as like him as she is. 

Beat. I wonder that you will still be talking, 
Si,si;nior Benedick : nobody marks you. 

Rue. What, ray dear Lady Disdain ! are 
yoii yet livinu; ? 1'^) 

Jieat. Is it possible disdain should die 
while she hath such meet food to feed it as 
Siijnior Benedick ? Courtesy itself must 
convert to disdain, if you come in her pres- 
ence. 

liene. Then is courtesy a turncoat. But it 
is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you ex- 
cepted : and I would I could find in my heart 
that I liad not a hard heart ; for, truly, 1 love 
none. 

liidt. A dear happiness to women : they 
would else have been troubled with a peiiii- 
cious suitor. 1 thank God ami m)'cold blood, I 
am of your humor for that : I had rather hear 
my do^ bark at a crow than a man swear he 
loves me. 

Beiw. God keep j'our ladyship still in tliat 
mind I so some gentleman or other shall '.scape 
1 predestiuate scratched face. 

Beat. Scratchiug could not make it worse, 
v.n 'twere sucii a face as yours were. 

Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher. 

Beat. A bird of my tongue is better than a 
beast of yours. 141 

Bine. I would my horse had the speed of 
your tongue, and so good a continuer. But 
keei> your way, i' God's name ; I have done. 

R'ltt. You always end with a jade's trick: 
I know you of old. 

1). Ihlm. That is the sum of all, Leonato. 
Siguior( 'laudioandSignior Benedick, my dear 
friend Leonato hath invited you all. I tell him 
we shall ^.tay here at the least a month ; and 
he heartily prays some occasion may detain us 
longer. I dare swear he is no hypocrite, but 
prays from Ids heart. 

Ijeuu. If you swear, my lord, you shall not 
be forsworn. [To Don Johit] Let me bid you 
welcome, my lord : being reconciled to the 
prince your brother, I owe you all duty. 

1). Ju/iii. I thank you : I am not of many 
words, but I thank you. 

Leoii. Please it your grace lead on ? 160 

J). Pedro. Your baud, Leonato ; we will go 
together. 

[Exeunt all except Benedick andClaudio. 

(Jlaml. Benedick, didst thou note the daugh- 
ter of Sio;nior Leonato V 

Bene. T noted her not ; but I looked on her. 

('land. Is she not a modest young ladv ? 

liene. Do you question me, as an honest 
man should do, for my simple true judgment ; 
or would you have me speak after my custom, 
as being a (jrofessed tyrant to their sex V 170 

('land. No ; 1 pray tliee speak in sober 
judgment. 

Bene. Why, i' faith, methinks she's too low 
for a high praise, too brown for a fair prai.se 
and loo little for a great praise : only this com- 
uienUaiion I can alford her.that were she other 



than she is, she were unhandsome ; and being 
no other Itnt as she is, I do not like her. 

Calami. Thou thinkest I am in sport : I pray 
thee tell ine truly how thou likest her. 180 
Bfne. Would you buy her, that you inquire 
after her V 

Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel? 
Bene. Y'ea, and a case to ])ut it into. Biit 
speak you this with a ; ad brow V or do you 
play the flouting Jack, to tell us Cupid is a 
good hare-finder and Vulcun a rare carpenter? 
Come, in what key shall a man take you, to go 
in the song ? 

Claud. In mine eye she is the sweetest lady 
that ever I looked on. 190 

Bene. I can see yet without spectacles and 
I see no such matter: there's her cousin, an 
she were not possessed with a fury, exceeds 
her as much in beauty as the first of May doth 
the last of December. But I hope you have no 
intent to turn husband, have you ? 

Claud. 1 would scarce trust myself, though 
I li:id sworn the contrary, if Hero would be 
my wife. 

Be)ie. Is't come to this ? In faith, hath not 
the world one man but he will wear his cap 
with suspicicjii ? Shall I never see a bachelor 
of three- score again ? Go to, i' faith ; an thou 
wilt needs thrust thy neck into a yoke, wear 
the print of it and sigh away Sundays. Look ; 
Don Pi'dro is returned to seek you. 

lie-enter Don Pedro. 

D. Ftdro. What secret hath held you here, 
that you followed not to Leonato's ? 

Bene. I would your grace would constrain 
me to tell. 

D. Fifdro. I charge thee on thy allegiance. 

Bene. You hear, "Count Claudio : I can be 
secret as a dumb man ; I would have you think 
so ; but, on my allegiance, mark you this, on 
my allegiance. He is in love. Witli who ? 
now that is your grace's part. Mark how short 
his answer is ;— With Hero, Leonato's short 
daughter. 

Claud. If this were so, so were it uttered. 

Bene. Like the old tale, my lord : ' it is 
not so, nor 'twas not so, but, indeed, God for- 
bid it should be so.' '~20 

Claud. If mv passion change not shortly, 
God forbid it should be otherwise. 

D. Ptdro. Amen, if you love her ; for the 
ladv is very well worthy. 

Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, mv 
lord. 

I). IMro. By my troth, I speak mv 
tlK)Uoht. [mine. 

Claud. And, in laith, my lord, I spoke 

Bene. And by my two faiths and tiolhh, 
mv lord, 1 spoke mine. 

Claud. That 1 love her, I feel. '£^ 

I). B'dro. That she is worthy, I know. 

Bene. That I neither feel how she should 
be loved nor know how she should be worthy, 
is the opinion that fire cannot melt out of me ; 
1 '.viU die iu it at the stake. 



540 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



[Act I. 



D. Pedro. Thou wost ever an obstinate 
neretic in the despite of beauty. 

Claud. And never could maintain liis part 
but in the force of liis will. 

Bene. That a woman conceived me, I thank 
her ; that she brought me up, T likewise give 
her most humble thanks •■ but that I will liave 
a recheat winded in my forehead, or hang my 
bugle in an invisible baldi'ick, all women shall 
pardon me. Because 1 will not do them the 
wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself the 
right to trust none ; and the fine is, for the 
which I may go the finer, I will live a bache- 
lor. 

D. Pedro, I shall see thee, ere I die, look 
pale with love. 250 

Bette. With anger, with sickness, or with 
hunger, my loid, not with love : prove that 
ever I lose' more blood with love than I will 
get again with drinking, pick out mine eyes 
with a ballad-maker's pen and hang me up at 
the door of a brothel-house for the sign of 
blind Gupid. 

J). Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from 
this faith, thou wilt prove a notable argu- 
ment. 

Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a 
cat and shoot at me ; and he that hits me, let 
him be clapped on the shoulder, and called 
Adam. 261 

D. Pedro. Well, as time shall try : 
' In time the savage bull doth bear ithe yoke.' 

Bene. The savage bull may ; but if ever 
the sensible Benedick bear it, pluck off the 
bull's horns and set them in my forehead : 
and let me be vilely [juinted, and in such great 
letters as they write ' Here is good horse to 
hire,' let them signify under my sign ' Here 
you may see Benedick the married man.' 270 

Vkuid. If this should ever happen, tliou 
wouldst be horn-mad. 

D. Pidro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all 
his quiver in Venice, thou wilt quake for this 
shortly. 

Bene. I look for an earthquake too, then. 

D. Pedro. AVell, you will temporize with 
the hours. In the meantime, good Signior 
Benedick, repair to Leonato's : commend me 
to hiai and tell him 1 will not fail him at sup- 
per ; for indeed he hath made great prepara- 
tion. 280 

Bene. I have almost matter enough in me 
for such an embassage ; and so I commit 
you— 

Claud. To the tuition of God : From my 
house, if I had it, — 

l). Pedro. The sixth of July : Your loving 
friend, Benedick. 

Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not. The body 
of your discourse is sometime guarded with 
fragments, and the guards are but slightly 
basted on neither : ere you flout old ends any 
further, examine your conscience : and so I 
eave you. [Ei-it. 2fll 

Claud. My liege, your highness now may 
do me good. 



D. fedro. My love is thine to teach : teacli 

it but how, 
And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn 
Any hard lesson that may do thee good. 
Claud. Hath Leonato any son, my lord ? 
D. Pedro. No child but Hero ; she's hia 

only heir. 
Dost thou affect her, Claudio ? 

Claud. O, my lord. 

When you went onward on this ended action, 
I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye, 300 
That liked, but had a rougher task in hand 
Than to drive liking to the name of love : 
But now I am return'd and that war-thoughts 
Have left their places vacant, in their rooms 
Come thronging soft and delicate desires. 
All prompting me how fair young Hero is, 
Saying, I liked her ere 1 went to wars. 
Z). Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover pres- 
ently 
And tire the hearer with a book of words. 
If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it, 310 
And I will break with her and with her fatlier 
And thou shalt have her. Was' t not to this 

end 
That thou began' st to twist so fine a story ? 
Claud. How sweetly you do minister t« 

love, 
That know love's grief by his complexion ! 
But lest my liking might too sudden seem, 
I would have salved it with a longer treatise. 
B. Pedro. What need the bridge much 

broader than the flood ? 
The fairest grant is the necessity. 
Look, what will serve is fit : 'tis once, thou 

lovest, 320 

And I will fit thee with the remedy. 
I know we shall have revelling to-night : 
I will assume thy part in some disguise 
And tell fair Hero I am Claudio, 
And in her bosom I'll unclasp my heart 
And take her hearing prisoner with, the force 
And strong encounter of my amorous tale ; 
Then after to her father will I break ; 
And the conclusion is, she shall be thine. 
In practice let us put it presently, 330 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. A room in Leonato's house. 
Enter Leonato and Antonio, meeting, 

Leon. How now, brother ! Where is my 
cousin, your son ? hath he provided this 
music ? 

A7it. He is very busy about it. But,broth- 
er, I can tell you strange news that you yet 
dreamt not of. 

Leon. Are they good ? 

Aiit. As the event stamps them : but they 
have a good cover ; they show well outward 
The prince and Count Claudio, walking in a 
thick-]>leached alley in mine orchard, were 
thus much overheard by a man of mine : the 
prhice discovered to Claudio that he loved my 
niece your daughter and meant to acknowl- 
edge it this night iu a dance ; and if he fouiul 



Scene i.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



641 



her accordant, he meant to take the present 
time by the top and instantly break with you 
of it. 

Leon. Hath the fellow any wit that told 
you tliis ? 

Anl. A good sharp fellow : I will send for 
him ; and (piestion him yourself. 20 

Lum. N<J, no ; we a\ ill liokl it as a dream 
till it appear itself : but I will acijuaint my 
daughter withal, tluit she niaj' be the better 
pre[)ared fur an answer, if peradventure tliis 
be true, (u) you and tell her of it. \^EnU'V at- 
tenilaalti.] Cousins, you know what you have 
to do. O, 1 cry you mercy, friend ; go you 
with me, and I will use your skill. Good 
cousin, have a care this busy time. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. The same. 
Enter Don John and Conrade. 

Con. What the good-year, my lord ! wliy 
are you tluis out of measure sad ? 

D. John. There is no measure in the occa- 
sion that breeds ; therefore the sadness is 
without limit. 

Con. You should hear reason. 

I). John. And when 1 have heard it, what 
blessing brings it ? 

('on.. If not a present remedy, at least a 
patient sufferance. 10 

1). John. I wonder tliat thou, being, as tliou 
sayest thou art, born under Saturn, goest 
about to apply a moral medicine to a mortify- 
ing mischief. I cannoc hide what I am : I 
must be sad when I liave cause and smile at 
no man's jests, eat when I have stomach and 
wait for no man's leisure, sleep when I am 
drowsy and tend on no man's business, laugh 
when I am merry and claw no man in his hu- 
mor. 

Von. Yea, but you must not make the full 
show of this till you may do it without con- 
trolinent. You have of late stood out against 
your brother, and he hath ta'en you newly 
into his grace ; where it is impossible you 
should take true root but by the fair weatlier 
that you make yourself : it is needful that 
you frame the season for your own harvest. 

/), John. I had rather be a canker in a 
lel.'^ethana rose in his grace, and it better 
fits my blood to be disdained of all than to 
fashion a carriage to rob .love from any : in 
this, though I cannot be said to be a flattering 
honest man, it ipust not be denied but I am a 
l>lain-dealing villain. I am trusted with a 
nnizzle and enfranchised with a clog ; there- 
fore I have decreed not to sing in my cage. 
If I had my mouth, I would bite ; if I had my 
liberty, I would do my liking : in the mean- 
time let me be that I am and seek not to alter 
me. 

Con. Can you make no use of your discon- 
tent ? 40 

I). John. I make all use pf it, for I use it 
only. 
Who comes her© ? 



Enter Borachio. 
What news, Borachio ? 

Bora. I came yonder from a great supper : 
the prince your brother is royally enterUiined 
by Leonato : and I can give you intelligence 
of an intended marriage. 

J). John. Will it serve for any model to 
build mischief on ? What is he for a fool that 
betroths himself to unquietness ? 60 

Bora. Marry, it is vour brother's riglit 
hand. 

B. John. Who? the most exquisite Clan- 
dio? 

Bora. Even he. 

D. John. A proper squire ! And who, anu 
who ? which way looks he ? 

Bora. Marry, on Hero, the daughter and 
heir of Leonato. 

B. John. A very forward March-chick ' 
IIow came you to this ? 

Bora. Being entertained for a perfumer, as 
I was smoking a musty room, comes me the 
prince and Claudio, hand in hand, in sad con- 
ference : I whipt me behind the arras ; and 
there heard it agreed upon that the prince 
should woo Hero for himself, and having ob- 
tained her, give her to Count Claudio. 

B. John. Come, come, let us thither : thit 
may prove food to my displeasure. Tha. 
young start-up hath all the glory of my over- 
throw : if I can cross him any way, 1 bless 
myself every way. Y''ou are both sure, and 
will assist me ? 71 

Con. To the death, my lord. 

B. John. Let us to the great supper : their 
cheer is the greater that I am suhdued. 
Would the cook were oi my mind ! Shall we 
go prove what's to be done? 

Bora. We'll wait upon your lordship. 

lExeu7it 



ACT n. 

Scene I. A hall in Leonato's house. 

Enter Leonato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice, 

and others. 

Leon. Was not Count John here at sup})cr ? 

Ant. I saw him not. 

Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks ! I 
never can see him but I am heart-burned an 
hour after. 

HeJ-o. He is of a very melancholy disposi- 
tion. 

Beat. He were an excellent man that were 
made just in the midway between him and 
Benedick : the one is too like an image and 
says nothing, and the other too like my lady's 
eldest son, evermore tattling. 11 

Leon. Then half Signior Benedick's tongue 
in Count John's nu)Uth, and half Count John's 
melancholy in Signior Benedick's face, — 

Beat. With a good leg and a good foot, 
UDcle, and money enough in his purse, Bucb a 



542 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



(Act ji. 



mau would win any woman in the world, if 
a' could get her good-will. 

Leon. By my trotli, niece, thou wilt never 
get thee a husband, if thou be so shrewd of 
thy tongue. -1 

Ant. In faith, she's too curst. 

Beat. Too curst is more than curst : I shall 
lessen God's sending tliat way ; for it is said, 
'' God sends a curst cow short horns ; ' but to 
a cow too curst he sends none. 

Leon. So, by being too curst, God will send 
you no horns. 

Beat. Just, if lie send rae no husband ; for 
the wliich blessing I am at him upon ray knees 
every morning and evening. Lord, I could 
not endure a husband with a beard on his 
face : I had rather lie in tlie woollen. 

Leon. You may light on a husband that 
hath no beard. 

Beat. What should I do with him ? dress 
him in my apparel and make him my waiting- 
gentlewoman ? He that hath a beard is more 
than a youth, and he tliat hath no beard is 
less than a man : and lie that is more than a 
youtli is not for me, and he that is less tiian 
a man, I am not for him : tlierefore, I will 
even take sixpence in earnest of tlie bear- 
ward, and lead his apes into hell. 

I^eon. Well, then, go you into hell ? 

Beat. No, but to the gate ; and tliere will 
the devil meet me, like an old cuckold, witli 
horns on his head, and say ' Get you to 
heaven, Beatrice, get you to heaven ; here's 
no place for you maids :' so deliver I up my 
apes, and away to Saint Peter for the heavens; 
he shows me where the bachelors sit, and 
there live we as merry as the day is long. 

Ant. [To Hero] Well, niece, I trust you 
will be ruled by your father. 

Beat. Yes, faith ; it is my cousin's duty to 
make curtsy and say ' Father, as it please 
you.' But yet for all tliat, cousin, let him be 
a handsome fellow, or else make another 
curtsy and say ' Father, as it please me.' 

Leo)h. Well, niece, I hope to see you one 
day fitted with a husband. (51 

Beat. Not till God make men of some other 
metal than earth. Would it not grieve a wo- 
man to be overmastered with a piece of valiant 
dust ? to make an account of her life to a clod 
of wayward marl? No, uncle, I'll none: 
Adam's sons are my brethren ; and, truly, I 
hold it a sin to match in my kindred. 

Leon. Daughter, remember what I told 
you ; if the princa do solicit you in that kind, 
you know your answer. 71 

Beat. The fault will be in the music, cousin, 
if you be not wooed in good time : if the 
prince be too important, tell him there is meas- 
ure in every thing and so dance out the an- 
swer. For,'hear me, Hero : wooing, wedding, 
and repenting, is as a Scotch jig, a measure, 
and a cinque pace : the first suit is liot and 
hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as fantastical ; 
the wedding, mannerly-modest, as a measure, 
lull of state and aucieuU-y ; and tbea coiue:; 



repentance and, with his bad legs, falls into 
the cinque pace faster and faster, till he sink 
into his grave. 

Leon. Cousin, you appreliend passing 
shrewdly. 

Beat. I have a good eye, uncle ; I can see 
a church by daylight. 

Leon. The revellers are enteriug, brother ; 
make good room. [All put on their niasl:s. 

Enter Do:s Fevro, Claudio, Benedick, Bai, 
THASAK, Don John, Borachiu, Mak- 
GAKET, Ursula, and others, masked. 

D. Pedro. Lady, will you walk about with 
your friend ? i>0 

Hero. So you walk softly and look sweetly 
and say nothing, I am yours lor the walk ; and 
especially when I walk away. 

fj. Pedro. With me in your company ? 

Hero. I may say so, when I please. 

D. Pedro. And when please you to say so? 

Hero. When I like your favor ; for God 
defend the lute should be like the case ! 

D. Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof ; 
within the house is Jove. 100 

Hero. Why, then, your visor should be 
thatched. 

I). Pedro. Speak low, if you spealc love. • 
[Drawing her aside. 

Balth. Well, I would you did like me. 

Mar;/. So would not I, for your own sake; 
for I have many ill-qualities. 

Balth. Whicli is one ? 

Mart/. I say my prayers aloud. 

Balth. I love you the better : the hearers 
may cry, Amen. 110 

Mar;/. God match me with a good dancer ! 

Balth. Amen. 

Mar;/. And God keep him out of my sight 
when the dance is done ! Answer, clerk. 

Balth. No more words : the clerk is an- 
swered. 

Urs. I know you well enough ; you are 
Signior Antonio. 

Ant. At a word, I am not. 

Urs. I know you by the waggling of your 
liead. ' 120 

Ant. To tell you true, I counterfeit him. 

Urs. You could never do him so ill-well, 
unless you were the very man. Here's his drj' 
hand up and down : you are he, you are he. 

Ant. At a word, I am not. 

Urs. Come, come, do you think T do not 
know you bj' your excellent wit ? can virtue 
hide itself ? Go to, mum, you are he : graces 
will appear, and there's an end. 

Beat. Will you not tell me who told you 
so? 

Bene. No, you shall pardon me. 131 

Beat. Nor will you not tell ine who you 
are? 

Bene. Not now. 

Beat. That I was disdainful, and that I had 
my good wit out of the 'Hundred Merry 
Tales : ' — well, thig was Signior 5eiie(iick that 
said SQ. 



Scene i.] 



MircH ADO ABOl'T XOTHING. 



643 



Bene. What's he ? 

Beat. I run sure yon know liim wel 1 enongli. 

Bene. Not 1, believe me. 

Beat. Did he never nuike \ on langh '.' 140 

Bene. I pray you, what is he ? 
Beat. Why, he is the piinio's jester : a 
very dull fool; only his j;ilt is in devising 
impossible slanders : none hut libertines de- 
light in him ; and the commendation is not 
in his wit, but in his villany ; lor he both 
pleases men and angers them, and then they 
laugh at him and beat him. I am sure he is 
in the fleet : I would he had boarded me. 

Bene. WHien I know the gentleman, I'll 
tell him what you say. 151 

Beat. Do, do : he'll but break a comparison 
or two -on me ; which, peradveuture not 
marked or not laughed at, strikes him into 
melancholy ; and then there's a partridge wing 
saved, for the fool will eat )io supper that 
night. [3/i/sic. ] W'e must follow tlie leaders. 

Bene. In every good thing. 

Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will 

leave them at tlie next turning. 160 

[^Danee. Tlien exeunt all except Bon 

John, Borachio, and Claudio. 

JJ. John. Sure my brother is amorous on 
Hero and hath withdrawn her father to break 
with him about it. The ladies follow her and 
but one visor remains. 

Bora. And that is Claudio : I know him by 
Ins bearing. 

B. John. Are not you Signior Benedick ? 

Claud. You know me well ; I am he. 

B. John. Signior, you are very near my 
brother in his love : he is enamored on Hero ; 
I pray you, dissuade him from her : she is no 
equal for his birth : you may do the part of 
an honest man in it. 

Claud. How know you he loves her ? 

B. John. I heard him swear his affection. 

Bora. So did I too ; and he swore he would 
marry her to-night. 

B. John. Come, let us to the banquet, 

[Exeiuit Bon John and Borachio. 

Claud. Thus answer I in the name of Bene- 
dick, 
But hear these ill news with the ears of 
Claudio. 180 

'Tis certain so ; the prince wooes for liiraself. 
Friendshij) is constant in all other things 
Save in the office and affairs of love : 
Therefore, all hearts in love use their own 

tongues ; 
Let eveiy eye negotiate for itself 
And trust no agent ; for beauty is a witch 
Against whose charms faith melteth into 

blood. 
This is an accident of hourly proof. 
Which I mistrusted not. Farewell, therefore, 
Hero 1 



Re-enter Benedick. 

Bene. Count Claudio ? 
Ciaitd, Yc;i. the same. 
Be»£ Cpoje, wili jou go with me ? 



190 



Claud. W'hither ? 

licne. Even to the next willow, about your 
own bu.siness, county. What fashion wdl you 
wear tlie garland of? about your neck, like 
an usurer's chain ? or under your arm, like a 
lieutenant's scarf '.'' You must wear it one 
Avay, for the prince hath got your Hero. 

Claud. I wish him joy of her. 1200 

Bene. Why, that's spoken like an iionest 
drovier : so they sell bullocks. But did you 
think the prince would have served you thus ? 

Claud. I pray you, leave me. 

Bene. Ho ! now you .strike like the blind 
man : 'twas the boy that stole your meat, and 
you'll beat the post. 

Claud. If it will not be, I'll leave you. 

[Exit. 

Bene. Alas, poor hurt fowl ! now will he 
creep into sedges. But that my Lady Bea- 
trice should know me, and not know me ! The 
prince's fool ! Ha ? It may be I go under 
that title because I am merry. Yea, but so 1 
am apt to do myself wrong ; I am not so re- 
l>uted : it is the base, though bitter, disposi- 
tion of Beatrice that puts the world into her 
person, and so gives me out. Well, I'll be 
revenged as I may. 

Re-enter Don Pedro. 

B. Pedro. Now, signior, where's the count? 
did you see him ? 

Bene. Troth, my lord, I have played the 
part of Lady Fame. I found him here as 
melancholy as a lodge in a warren : I told 
him, and I think 1 told him true, that your 
grace had got the good will of this young 
lady ; and I offered him my company to a 
willow-tree, either to make him a garland, ag 
being forsaken, or to bind him up a rod, as 
being worthy to be whipped. 

B. Pedro. To be w hipped ! "What's his 
fault ? 

Bene. The flat transgression of a school- 
boy, who, being overjoyed with finding a birds' 
nest, shows it his companion, and he steals it. 

B. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a trans- 
gression ? The transgression is in the stealer. 

Be)ie. Yet it had not been amiss the rod 
had been made, and the garland too ; for the 
garland he might have worn himself, and the 
rod he might have bestowed on you, who, as 
I take it, have stolen his birds' nest. 

D. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and 
restore them to the owner. 240 

Bene. If their singing answer your saying, 
by my faith, vou say honestly. 

D. 'Pedro. The Lady Beatrice hath a quar- 
rel to you : the gentleman that danced with 
lier toid lier she is much wronged by you. 

Bene. O, she misused me past the endur- 
ance of a block ! an oak but with one green 
leaf on it would have answered her ; my 
very visor began to assume life and scold with 
her. She told me, not thinking I had been 
mvself, that I was the ))rince's je.'^ter, that I 
•was duller tUa» a great thaw ; liuddliiig jest 



544 



MUCH ADO ABGf/T NOTHING. 



[Act 11. 



upon jest with such impossible conveyance 
upon me tliat I stood like a man at a mark, 
with a whole army shooting at me. She 
speaks poniards, and every word stabs : if her 
breath were as terrible as her terminations, 
there were no living near her ; she would infect 
to the north star. I would not marry her, 
though she were endowed with all that Adam 
had left him before he transgressed : she 
would have made Hercules have turned spit, 
yea, and have cleft his club to make the lire 
too. Come, talk not of her : you shall find 
her the infernal Ate in good apparel. I would 
to God some scholar would conjure her ; for 
certainly, while she is here, a man nuiy live 
as quiet in hell as in a sanctuary ; and people 
sin upon purjwse, because they would go 
thither ; so, indeed, all disquiet, horror and 
perturbation follows her. < 

D. Pedro. Look, here she comes. 270 

Enter Claudio, Be.\tkice, Heko, and 
Leonato. 

Bone. Will your grace command me any 
service to the world's end ? I will go on the 
slightest errand now to the Antipodes that you 
can devise to send me on ; 1 will fetch you a 
tooth-picker now from the furtliestinch of Asia, 
bring you the length of I'rester -lohu's foot, 
fetch you a hair off the great Cham's beard, 
do you any embassage to tlie Pigmies, 
rather than hold three words' conference with 
this harpy. You have no employment for me ? 

D. Pedro. Xone, but to desire your good 
company. 

Bene. O God, sir, here's a dish I love not : 
I cannot endure my Lady Tongue. [E.i-it. 

D. Pedro. Come, lady, come ; you have 
lost the heart of Signior Benedick. 

Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me 
awhile ; and I gave him use for it, a double 
heart for his single one : marry, once before 
he won it of me with false dice, therefore your 
grace may well say I have lost it. 291 

D. Pedro. You hii,ve put him down, lady, 
you liave put him down. 

Beat. So I would not he should do me, my 
lord, lest I should prove the mother of fools. 
I have brought Count Claudio, whom you sent 
me to seek. 

D. Pedro. Why, how now, count ! where- 
fore are you sad ? 

Claud. Not sad, my lord. 300 

D. Pedro. How then ? sick ? 

Claud. Neither, my lord. 

Beat. The count is neither sad, nor sick, 
nor merry, nor well ; but civil count, civil as 
an orange, and something of that jealous com- 
plexion. 

D. Pedro. V faith, lady, 1 think your blazon 
to be true ; though, I'll be sworn, if he be so, 
his conceit is false. Here, Claudio, I have 
wooed in thy name, and fair Hero is won : I 
have broke with her father, and his good will 
obtained : name the day of marriage, and God 
give tbee joy I 



Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and 
with her my fortunes : his grace hath made 
the match, and all grace say Amen to it. 

Beat. Speak, count, 'tis your cue. 

Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of 
joy : I were but little happy, if I could say how 
much. Lady, as you are mhie, I am yours : I 
give away myself for you and dote upon the 
exchange. 320 

Beat. Speak, cousin ; or, if you cannot, 
stop his mouth with a kiss, and let not him 
speak neitlier. [hejirt. 

D. Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry 

Beat. Yea, my lord ; I tluiuk it, i)oor fool, 
it keeps on the windy side of care. My cousin 
tells him in his ear that he is iu her heart. 

Claud. And so she doth, cousin. ■ 

Beat. Good Lord, for alliance ! Thus goes 
every one to the world but I, and I am sun- 
burnt ; I may sit in a corner and cry heigh-ho 
for a husband ! 

D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one. 

Beat. I would rather have one of your 
father's getting. Hath your grace ne'er a 
brother like you ? Your father got excellent 
husbands, if a maid could come by them. 

B. Pedro. Will you have me, lady ? 

Beat. No, my lord, unless I might have 
another for working-days : your grace is tot) 
costly to wear every day. But, 1 beseech your 
grace, pardon me : I was born to speak all 
mirtli and no matter. 

B. Pedro. Your pileuce most offends me, 
and to be merry best becomes you ; for, out of 
question, you were born in a merry hour. 

Beat. No, sure, my lord, my nujther cried ; 
but then there was a star danced, and under 
that was I born. Cousins, God give you joy I 

Leon. Niece, will you look to those things 
I told you of ? 

Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle. By your 
grace's pardon. ['E.ril 

/'. Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited 
lady. 

Leon. There's little of the melancholy ele- 
ment in her, my lord : she is never sad but 
when she sleeps, and not ever sad tlicu ; foi' I 
have heard my daughter .say, she hath often 
dreamed of unhappiness and waked herself 
witli laughing. 

D. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of 
a husband. 

Leon. C. by no means : she mocks all her 
wooers out of suit. 

D. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for 
Bensdick. 

Leon. O Lord, my lord, if they were but a 
week married, they would talk themselves 
mad. 

D. Pedro. County Claudio, when mean you 
to go to church ? '371 

Claud. To-morrow, my lord : time goes on 
crutches till love have all his rites. 

Leo)i. Not till Monday, my dear son, which 
is hence a just seven-night ; and a time too 
brief, too, to have all things answer my mind. 



Scene hi.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



545 



D. Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so 
long a breathing : but, I warrant thee, Clau- 
dio, the time shall not go dully by us. I will 
in the interim underttike one of Hercules' la- 
bors ; wiiich is, to bring Signior Benedick and 
the Ladj' Beatrice into a mountain of affection 
the one with the other. I would fain have it 
a match, and I doubt not but to fashion it, if 
you three will but minister such assistance as 
I shall give you direction. 

Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost 
me ten nights* watchings. 

Clainl. And I, my lord. 

I). Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero ? 

Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, 
to help my cousin to a good husband. 391 

D. Pedro. And Benedick is not the luihope- 
fullest husband that I know. Thus far can 1 
praise him ; he is of a noble strain, of aj)- 
proved valor and confirmed honesty. I will 
teach you how to humor your cousin, that she 
sliall fall in love with Benedick ; and 1, with 
your two helps, will so practice on Benedick 
that, in despite of his quick wit and his queasy 
Btom-ach, he shall fall in love with Beatrice. 
If we can do this, Cupid is no longer an archer : 
his glory shall be ours, for we are the only love- 
gods. Go in with me, and I will tell you n:y 
drift. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. The same. 
Enter Don John and Borachio. 

D. John. It is so ; the Count Claudio shall 
marry the daughter of Leouato. 

Bora. Yea, my lord ; but I can cross it. 

D. John. Any bar, any cross, any impedi- 
ment will be medicinable to me : I am sick 
in dis])leasure to him, and whatsoever comes 
athwart his affection ranges evenly with mine. 
How canst thou cross this marriage ? 

B'ira. Not honestly, my lord ; but so co- 
vertly that no dishonesty shall appear in me. 

D. John. Show me briefly how. 11 

Bora, I think I told your lordship a year 
since, how much I am in the favor of Marga- 
ret, the waiting gentlewoman to Hero. 

I). John. I remember. 

Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of 
the night, appoint her to look out at her lady's 
chamber window. 

J). John. What life is in that, to be the 
death of this marriage ? 20 

Born. The poison of that lies in you to tem- 
per. Go you to the prince your brother; spare 
not to tell him that he hath wronged his honor 
in marrying the renowned Claudio— whose es- 
timation do you mightily hold up — to a con- 
taminated stale, such a one as Hero. 

J). John. What proof shall I make of that? 

Bora. Proof enough to misuse the prince, 
to vex Claudio, to undo Hero and kill Leouato. 
Look you for any other issue ? 'M 

D. John. Only to despite them, I will en- 
deavor any thing. 

Bora, Go, then ; find me a. meet hour to 



draw Don Pedro and the Count Claudio alone ; 
tell them that you know that Hero loves me ; 
intend a kind of zeal both to the prince and 
Claudio, as, — in love of your brother's honor, 
who hath made this match, and his friend's 
reputiition, who is thus like to be cozened with 
the semblance of a maid, — that you have dis- 
covered thus. They will scarcely believe this 
without trial : offer them instances ; which 
shall bear no less likelihood than to see me at 
her chamber-window, hear me tcall Margaret 
Hero, hear Margaret term me Claudio ; and 
bring them to see this the very night before 
the intended wedding, — for in the meantime I 
will so fashion the matter that Hero shall be 
absent, — and there shall appear such seeming 
truth of Hero's disloyalty that jealousy shall 
be called assurance and all the preparation 
overthrown. 51 

D. John. Grow this to what adverse issue 
it can, I will put it in practice. Be cunning in 
the working this, and thy fee is a thousand 
d ucats. 

Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, 
and my cunning shall not shame me. 

D. John. I will presently go learn their day 
of marriage. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. Leonato's orchard. 



Enter Benedick. 



Bene. Boy ! 



Enter Boy. 



Boy. Signior ? 

Bene. In my chamber-window lies a book: 
bring it hither to me in the orchard. 

Boy. I am here already, six-. 

Bene. I know that ; but I would haye thee 
hence, and here again. [Exit Boy.] I do much 
wonder that one man, seeing how much an- 
other man is a fool when he dedicates his be- 
haviors to love, will, after he hath laughed 
at such shallow follies in others, become the 
argument of his own scorn by falling in love : 
and such a man is Claudio. 1 have known 
when there was no music with him but the 
drum and the fife ; and now had he rather 
hear the tabor and the pipe : 1 have known 
when he would have walked ten mile a-footto 
see a good armor ; and now will he lie ten 
nights awake, carving the fashion of a new 
doublet. He was wont to speak plain and to 
the purpose, like an honest man and a soldier; 
and now is he turned orthograi)hy ; his words 
are a very fantastical banquet, just so mauy 
strange dishes. May I be so converted and 
see with tliese eyes ? I cannot tell ; I think 
not : I will not be sworn but love may trans- 
form me to an oyster ; but I'll take my oath 
on it, till he have made an oyster of nie, he 
shall never make me such a fool. One woman 
is fair, yet I am well ; another is wise, yet I 
am well ; another virtuous, yet I am well; but 
till all graces be in one woman, one woman 
shall not come in my grace. Rich she shall 
85 



646 



MUCH ADO ABOUT IVOTBING. 



[Act II. 



be, that's certain ; wise, or I'll none ; virtuous, 
or I'll never cheapen her ; fair, or I'll never 
look on her ; mild, or come not near nie ; no- 
ble, or not I for an angel ; of good discourse, 
an excellent musician, and her hair shall be of 
ftrhat color it please God. Ha! the prince and 
Monsieur Love ! I will hide me in the arbor. 

[ Withdraws. 

Enter Don Pedko, Claudio, and Leonato. 
D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this music? 
Claud. Yea, my good lord. How still the 
evening is, 40 

As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony ! 

D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath 
hid himself ? 

Claud. O, very well, my lord : the music 
ended. 
We'll fit the kid-fox with a pennyworth. 

Enter Balthasar ivith Music. 
D. Pedro. Come, Balthasar, we'll hear that 

song again. 
Balth. 0, good my lord, tax not so bad a 
voice 
To slander music any more than once. 
D. Pedro. It is the witness still of excel- 
lency 
To put a strange face on his own perfection. 
I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more. 50 
Balth. Because you talk of wooing, I will 
sing ; 
Since many a wooer doth commence his suit 
To her he thinks not worthy, yet he wooes, 
Yet will he swear he loves. 

D, Pedro. Now, pray thee, come ; 

Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument, 
Do it in notes. 

Balth. Note this before my notes ; 

There's not a note of mine that's worth the 
noting. 
D. Pedro. Why, these are very crotchets 
that he speaks ; 
Note, notes, forsooth, and nothing. \^Air. 

Bene. Now, divine air ! now is his soul 
ravished ! Is it not strange that sheeps' guts 
should hale souls out of men's bodies ? Well, 
a horn for my money, when all's done. 

The Song. 

Balth. Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, 

Men were deceivers ever. 
One foot in sea and one on shore, 

To one thing constant never : 
Then sigh not so, but let them go, 

Andtbe you blithe and bonny. 
Converting all your sounds of woe 70 

Into Hey nouny, nonny. 

Sing no more ditties, sing no moe, 
Of dumps so dull and heavy ; 

The fraud of men was ever so, 
Since summer first was leafy 
Then sigh not so, &c. 

J). Pedro. By my troth, a good song. 
Saith. And an ill singer, my lord. 



D. Pedro. Ha, no, no, faith ; thou singest 
well enough for a shift. 80 

Bene. An he had been a dog that should 
have howled thus, they would have hanged 
him : and I pray God his bad voice bode no 
mischief. I had as lief have heard the night- 
raven, come what plague could have come 
after it. 

D. Pedro. Yea, marry, dost thou hear, Bal- 
thasar ? I pray thee, get us some excellent 
music ; for to-morrow night we would have it 
at the Lady Hero's chamber-window. 

Balth. The best I can, my lord. 90 

D. Pedro. Do so : farewell. [Exit Ba'- 
thasar.] Come hither, Leonato. What was it 
you told me of to-day, that your niece Beatrice 
was in love with Signior Benedick ? 

Claud. 0, ay : stalk on, stalk on ; the fowl 
sits. I did never think that lady would have 
loved any man. 

Leon. No, nor I neither-; but most wonder- 
ful that she should so dote on Signior Bene- 
dick, whom she hath in all outward behaviors 
seemed ever to abhor. 101 

Bene. Is't pos>sible ? Sits the wind in that 
corner ? 

Leon. By my troth, my lord, I cannot tell 
what to think of it but tuat she loves him with 
an enraged affection : it is past the infinite of 
thought. [feit. 

B. Pedro. May be she doth but counter- 

Claud. Faith, like enough. 

Leon. God, counterfeit ! There was 
never counterfeit of passion came so near 
the life of passion as she discovers it. Ill 

D. Pedro. Why, what effects of passion 
shows she ? [bite. 

Claud. Bait the hook well ; this fish will 

Leon. What effects, my lord ? Slie will sit 
you, you heard my daughter tell you how. 

Claud. She did, indeed. 

D. Pedro. How, how, I pray you ? You 
amaze me : I would have thought her spirit 
had been invincible against all assaults of affec- 
tion. 120 

Lean. I would have sworn it had, my lord ; 
especially against Benedick. 

Bene. I should think this a gull, but that 
the white-bearded fellow speaks it : knavery 
cannot, sure, hide himself in such reverence. 

Claud. He hath ta'en the infection: hold it 
up. 

D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection 
known to Benedick ? 

Leon. No ; and swears she never will : 
that's her torment. 130 

Claud. 'Tis true, indeed ; so your daughter 
says : ' Shall I,' says she, ' that "have so oft en- 
countered him with scorn, write to him that I 
love him ? ' 

Leon. This says she now when she is begin- 
ning to write to "him ; for she'll be up twenty 
times a night, and there will she sit in her 
smock till she have writ a sheet of paper : 
my daughter tells us all. 

Clmid. Now you talk of a sheet of paper, I 



Scene hi.) 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



547 



remember a pretty jest your daughter told us 
of. 

Leon. O, when she had writ it and was 
reading it over, she found Benedick and Bea- 
trice between the sheet ? 

Clavd. Tliat. 

Leon. 0, she tore the letter into a thousand 
halfpence ; railed at herself, that she should 
be so immodest to write to one tliat she knew 
would flout her ; ' I measure him,' says she, 
' by my own spirit ; for 1 should flout him, if 
he writ to me ; yea, though 1 love him, I 
should.' 151 

Claud. Then down upon her knees she 
falls, weeps, sobs, beats her heart, tears lier 
hair, prays, curses ; ' O sweet Beuedick ! God 
give me patience ! ' 

Leon. Slie doth indeed ; my daughter says 
so : and the ecstasy hath so much overborne 
her that my daughter is sometime afeared she 
will do a desperate outrage to herself : it is 
very true. 

D. Pedro. It were good that Benedick knew 
of it by some other, if slie will not discover it. 

Claud. To what end ? He would make but 

a sport of it and torment the poor lady worse. 

E,, D. Pedro. An he should, it were an alms to 

Khang him. She's an excellent sweet lady ; 
and, out of all suspicion, she is virtuous. 

Claud. And she is exceeding wise. 

D, Pedro, lu every thing but in loving Bene- 
dick. 

Leon. O, my lord, wisdom and blood com- 
bating in so tender a body, we liave ten proofs 
to one that blood hath the victory. I am sorry 
for her, as I have just cause, being her uncfe 
aud her guardian. 
\ D. Pedro. I would she had bestowed this 

dotage on me : I would have daffed all other 
1 respects and made her half myself. I pray 
you, tell Beuedick of it, aud hear what a' will 
say. 

Leon. Were it good, think you ? 

Claud. Hero thinks surely she will die ; for 
she says she will die, if he love her not, and 
she will die, ere she make her love known, and 
she will die, if he woo her, rather than she 
will bate one breath of her accustomed cross- 
ness. 

D. Pedro. She doth well : if she should 
make tender of her love, 'tis very possible 
he'll scorn it ; for the man, as you know all, 
hath a contemptible spirit. 

Claud. He is a very proper man. 

I). Pedro. He hath indeed a good outward 
happiness. 191 

Claud. Before God ! and, in my mind, very 
wise. 

D Pedro. He doth indeed show some sparks 
that are like wit. 

Claud. And I take him to be valiant. 

D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you : and in 
the managing of quarrels you may say he is 
wise ; for either he avoids them with great 
discretion, or undertakes them with a most 
Christian-like fear. 200 



Leon. If he do fear God, a' must necessarily 
keep peace : if he break the peace, he ought to 
enter into a quarrel with fear and trembling.' 

D. Ptdro. And so will he do ; for the man 
doth fear God, howsoever it seems not in him 
by some large jests he will make. Well, I am 
sorry for your niece. Shall we go seek Bene- 
dick, and tell him of her love ? 

Claud. Never tell him, my lord : let her 
wear it out with good counsel. 

Leon. Nay, that's impossible : she may 
wear her heart out first. 210 

D. Pedro. Well, we will hear further of it 
by your daughter : let it cool the while. I love 
Benedick well ; and I could wish he would 
modestly examine himself, to see how much 
he is unworthy so good a lady. 

Leo7i. My lord, will you walk ? dinner is 
ready. 

Claud. If he do not dote on her upon this, 
I will never tru.st my expectation. 220 

D. Pedro. Let there be the same net spread 
for her ; and that must your daughter and lier 
gentlewomen carry. The sport will be, when 
they hold one an opinion of another's dotage, 
and no such matter : that's the scene that I 
would see, which will be merely a dumb- 
show. Let us send her to call him in to dinner. 
[^Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato. 

Bene. [Coming foncard] This can be no 
trick : the conference was sadly borne. They 
have the truth of this from Hero. They seem 
to pity the lady : it seems her affections have 
their full bent. Love me ! wliy, it must be re- 
quited. I hear how I am censured : they say 
I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive the 
love come from her ; they say too that she 
will ratlier die than give any sign of affection. 
I did never think to marry : I must not seem 
proud : happy are they that hear their detrac- 
tions and can put them to mending. They say 
the lady is fair ; 'tis a truth. I can bear them 
witness ; and virtuous ; 'tis so, I cannot re- 
prove it ; and wise, but for loving me ; by my 
troth, it is no addition to her wit, nor no great 
argument of her folly, for I will be horribly in 
love with her. I may chance have some odd 
quirks and remuants of wit broken on me, be- 
cause I have railed so long against marriage : 
but doth not the appetite alter ? a iiuin loves 
the meat in his youth that he cannot endure 
in his age. Sliall quips and sentences and 
these paper bullets of the brain awe a man 
from the career of his humor ? No, the world 
must be jjeopled When I said I would die a 
bachelor, I did not think I .should live till I 
were married. Ilei'c conies Beatrice. By 
this day ! she's a fair lady : I do spy some 
marks of love in her. 

Enter Beatrice. 

Beat. Against my will I am sent to bid you 
come in to dinner. 

Be7ie. Fail Beatrice, I thank you for your 
pains. 

Beat. I took no more pains for those thanks 



548 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



[Act lij. 



than you take pains to thank me : if it had 
been painful, I would not have come. 261 

Bene. You take pleasure then in the mes- 
sage? 

Beat. Yea, just so ranch as you may take 
upon a knife's point and choke a daw withal. 
You have no stomach, siguior: fare you well. 

[Exit. 

Bene. Ha ! ' Against my will I am sent to 
bid you come in to dinner ; there's a doubla 
meaning in that. ' I took no more pains for 
those thanks than you took pains to thank me . ' 
that's as much as to say, Any pains that I take 
for you is as ensv as thanks. If I do not take 
pity of her, I am a villain ; if I do not love her, 
I am a Jew. I will go get her picture. YExit. 



ACT III. 



Scene I. Leonato's garden. 

Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. 

Hero. Good Margaret, run thee to the par- 
lor ; 
There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice 
Proposing with the prince and Claadio : 
Whisper her ear and tell her, I and Ursula 
Walk in the orchard and our whole discourse 
Is all of her ; say that thou overheard'st us j 
And bid her steal into the pleached bower, 
Where honeysuckles, ripen'd by the sun, 
Forbid the sun to enter, like favorites, 
Made proud by princes, that advance their 
pride 10 

Against that power that bred it : there will she 

hide her, 
To listen our purpose. This is thy office ; 
Bear thee well in it and leave us alone. 
Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant you, 
presently. [Exit. 

Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth 
come. 
As we do trace this alley up and down. 
Our talk must only be of Benedick. 
When I do name him, let it be thy jmrt 
To praise him more than ever man did merit : 
My talk to thee must be how Benedick 20 
Is sick in love with Beatrice. Of this matter 
Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made, 
That only wounds by hearsay. 

Enter Beatrice, behind. 

Now begin ; 
For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs 
Close by the ground, to hear our conference. 
Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the 
fish 
Cut with her golden oars the silver stream. 
And greedilv devour the treacherou.s bait : 
So angle we toi Beatrice ; who even now 
Is couched in tlie woodbine coverture. 30 

Fear you not my part of the dialogue. 
■Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear 
lose uothiuii 



Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it. 

[Approaching the bower. 
No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful ; 
I know her spirits are as coy and wild 
As haggerds of the rock. 

Ui's. But are you sure 

That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely ? 
Hero. So says the prince and my uew- 

trothed lord. 
Urs. And did they bid you tell her of it, 

madam ? 
Hero. They did entreat me to acquaint her 
of it ; 40 

But I persuaded them, if they loved Benedick, 
To wish him wrestle with affection, 
And never to let Beatrice know of it. 
Urs. Why did you so ? Doth not the gentle- 
man 
Deserve as full as fortunate a bed 
As ever Beatrice shall couch upon ? 
Hero. O god of love ! I know he doth de- 
serve 
As much as may be yielded to a man : 
But Nature never framed a woman's heart 
Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice ; 50 
Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, 
Misprising what they look on, and her wit 
Values itself so highly that to her 
All matter else seems weak : she cannot love, 
Nor take no shape nor project of affection, 
She is so self-endeared. 

Urs. Sure, I think so ; 

And therefore certainly it were not good 
She knew his love, lest she make sport at it 
Hero. Why, you speak truth. 1 never yet 
saw man, 
How wise, how noble, young, how rarely fea- 
tured, 60 
But she would spell him backward : if fair- 
faced, 
She would swear the gentleman should be her 

sister ; 
If black, why, Nature, drawing of an antique, 
Made a foul blot ; if tall, a lance ill-headed ; 
If low, an agate very vilely cut ; 
If speaking, why, a vane blown with all 

winds ; 
If silent, why, a block moved with none. 
So turns she every man the wrong side out 
And never gives to truth and virtue that 
Which simpleness and merit purchaseth. 70 
Ui's. Sure, eure, such carping is not com- 
mendable. 
Hero. No, not to be so odd and from all 
fashions 
As Beatrice is, cannot be connnendable : 
But who dare tell her so ? If I should speak. 
She would mock me into air ; 0, she would 

laugh me 
Out of myself, press me to death with wit. 
Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire. 
Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly : 
It were a better death than die with mocks. 
Which is as bad as die with tickling. 80 

Urs. Yet tell her of it : hear what she will 
say. 



Scene ii.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



549 



Hero. No ; rather I will go to Benedick 
And connsel him to flght against his passion. 
And, truly, I'll devise some lionest slanders 
To stain my cousin with : one doth not know 
How much an ill word may empoison liking. 
Urs. O, do not do your cousin such a 
wrong. 
She cannot be so much witliout true judg- 
ment — 
Having so swift and excellent a wit 
As she is prized to liave — as to refuse 90 

So rare a gentleman as Signior Uenedick. 

Hero. He is the only man of Italy, 
Always excepted my dear Claudio. 

UrL I pray you, be not angry with me, 
madam, 
Speaking my fancy : Signior Benedick, 
For shape, for bearing, argument and valor, 
(Joes foremost in report through Italy, 
Hero. Indeed, he hath an excellent good 

name. 
Urs. His excellence did earn it, ere he had 
it. 
When are you married, madam ? 100 

Hero. Why, every day, to-morrow. Come, 
go in : 
I'll show thee some attires, and have thy coun- 
sel 
W^liich is the best to furnish me to-morrow. 
Urs. She's limed, I warrant you : we have 

caught her, madam. 
Hero, if it proves so, then loving goes by 
haps : 
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps. 
{Exeunt Hero and Ur.suUi. 
Beat. [Cominr/ forward'] What lire is in 
mine ears ? Can t'lis be true ? 
Stand 1 condemn" d for pride and scorn so 
much ? 
Contempt, farewell ! and maiden pride, adieu ! 
No glory lives behind tlie back of such. 110 
And, Benedick, love on ; I will requite thee, 

Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand : 
If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee 

To bind our loves up in a holy band ; 
For others say thou dost deserve, and I 
Believe it better than reportingly. [Exit. 

Scene II. A room in Leonato's house. 

Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, and 
Leonato. 

D. Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage 
^e consummate, and then go I toward Arra- 
gou. 

Claud. I'll bring you thither, my lord, if 
you'll vouchsafe me. 

D. Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a 
soil in the new gloss of your marriage as to 
show a child his new coat and forbid him to 
wear it. I will only be bold with Benedick for 
his company ; for, from the crown of his head 
to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth : he hath 
twice or thrice cut Cupid's bow-string and the 
little hangman dare not shoot at him ; he hath 
ft heart as sound as a bell and his tongue it^ 



the clapper, for what his heart thinks his tongue 
speaks. 

Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been. 

Leon. So say I : methiuks you are sadder. 

Claud. I hope he be in love. 

D. Pedro. Hang him, truant ! there's no 
true drop of blood in him, to be truly touched 
with love : if he be sad, he wants money 20 

Bene. I have the toothache. 

D. Pedro. Draw it. 

Bene. Hang it ! 

Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it 
afterwards. 

D. Pedro. What ! sigh for the toothache ? 

Leon. Where is but a humor or a worm. 

Bene. Well, every one can master a grief 
but he that has it. 

Claud. Yet say I, he is in love. 30 

D. Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy 
in him, unless it be a fancy that he hath to 
strange disguises; as, to be a Dutchman to-day, 
a Frenchman to-morrow, or in the shape of two 
countries at once, as, a German from the waist 
downward, all slops, and a Spaniard from the 
hip upward, no doublet. Unless he have a 
fancy to this foolery, as it appears he hath, 
he is no fool for fancy, as you would have 
it appear he is. 

Claud. If he be not in love with some 
woman, there is no believing old signs : a' 
brushes his hat o' mornings ; whatsliouldtliat 
bode ? 42 

B. Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the 
barber's ? 

Claud, No, but the barber's man hath been 
seen with him, and the old ornament of his 
cheek hath already stuffed tennis-balls. 

Leon. Indeed, he looks younger than he did, 
by the loss of a beard. 

B. Pedro. Nay, a' rubs himself with civet : 
can you smell him out by that ? 51 

Claud. That's as much as to say, the sweet 
youth's in love. 

B. Pedro. The greatest note of it is his 
melancholy. 

Ckaid. And when was he wont to wash his 
face? 

B. Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself ? for the 
which, I hear what they say of him. 

Claud. Nay, but liis jesting spirit ; which is 
now crept into a lute-string and now governed 
by stops. 

B. Pedro. Indeed, that tells a heavy tale 
for him : conclude, conclude he is in love. 

Claud. Nay, but I know who loves him. 

B. Pedro. That would I know too : I war- 
rant, one that knows him not. 

Claud. Yes, and his ill conditions ; and, in 
despite of all, dies for him. 

B. Pedro. She shall be buried with her face 
upwards 71 

Bene. Yet is this no charm for the tooth- 
aclie. Old signior, walk aside with me : I 
have studied eight or nine wise words to speak 
to you. which these hobby-horses must not 
hear, ' [Er.ev.nt Benedick ami Le^onato. 



550 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



[Act III. 



D. Pedro . For my life, to break with him 
about Beatrice. 

Claud. 'Tis even so. Hero and Margaret 
have by this played "their parts with Beatrice ; 
and then the two bears will not bite one an- 
other when they meet. 81 

Enter Don John. 

D. John. My lord and brother, God save 
you ! 

D. Pedro. Good den, brother. 

D. Jolui.. If your leisure served, I would 
speak with you. 

B. Pedro. In private ? 

D. John. If it please you : yet Count 
Claudio may hear ; for what I would speak of 
concerns him. 

n. Pedro. What's the matter ? 90 

D. John. [To Claudio'] Cleans your lord- 
ship to be married to-morrow ? 

D. Pedro. You know he does. 

D. John. I know not that, when he knows 
what I know. 

Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray 
you discover it. 

D. John. You may think I love you not : 
let that appear hereafter, and aim better at me 
by that I now will manifest. For my brother, 
I think he holds you well, and in dearness of 
heart hath holp to effect your ensuing mar- 
riage ; — surely suit ill spent and labor ill be- 
stowed. 

D. P.dro. Why, what's the matter ? 

D. ,Tohn. I came hither to tell you ; and, 
circumstances shortened, for she has been too 
long a talking of, the lady is disloyal. 

Claud. Who, Hero ? 

D. Pedro. Even she ; Leouato's Hero, your 
Hero, every man's Hero. 110 

Ckaid. Disloyal ? 

D. John. The word is too good to paint out 
her wickedness ; I could say she were worse : 
think you of a worse title, and I will fit her to 
it. Wonder not till further warrant : go but 
witli me to-niglit, you shall see her chamber- 
window entered, even the night before her 
wedding-day : if you love her then, to-morrow 
wed her ; but it would better fit your honor to 
change your mind. 

Claud. May this be so ? 120 

D, Pedro. I will not think it. 

D. John. If you dare not trust that you see, 
confess not that you know : if you will follow 
me, I will show you enough ; and when you 
have seen more and heard more, proceed ac- 
cordingly. 

Claud. If I see any thing to-night why I 
sliould not marry her to-morrow, in the con- 
gregation, where I should wed, there will I 
shame her. 

D. Pedro. And, as I wooed for thee to ob- 
tain her, I will join with thee to disgrace her. 

D. John. I will disparage her no farther 
till you are my witnesses : bear it coldly but 
till midnight, and let the issue show itself. 

D. Pedro, day uutowardly turned I 



Claud. mischief strangely thwarting ! 
D. John. O plague right well prevented ! 
so will you say when you have seen the sequel, 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. A street. 
Enter Dogberry andYERG^s with the Watch. 

Bog. Are you good men and true ? 

Verc/. Yea, or else it were pity but they 
should suffer salvation, body and soul. 

Dog. Nay, that were a punishment too 
good for them, if they should have any alle- 
giance in them, being chosen for the prince's 
watch. 

Verg. Well, give them their charge, neigh- 
bor Dogberry. 

Dog. First, who think you the most desart- 
less man to be constable ? 10 

First Watch. Hugh Otecake, sir, or George 
Seacole ; for they can write and read. 

Dog. Come hither, neighbor Seacole. God 
hath blessed you with a good name : to be a 
well-favored man is the gift of fortune ; b;it 
to write and read comes by nature. 

Sec. Watch. Both which, master consta- 
ble,— 

Dog. You have : I knew it would be your 
answer. Well, for your favor, sir, why, give 
God thanks, and make no boast of it ; and for 
your writing and reading, let that appear wlien 
there is no need of such vanity. You are 
thought here to be the most senseless and fit 
man for the constable of the watch ; therefore 
bear you the lantern. This is your charge : 
you shall compreliend all vagrom men ; you 
are to bid any man stand, in the prince's name. 

Sec. Watch. How if a' will not stand ? 

Dog. Why, then, take no note of him, but 
let him go ; and presently call the rest of tlie 
watch together and thank God you are rid of 
a knave. 

Verg. If he will not ptand when he is bid- 
den, he is none of the prince's subjects. 

Dog. True, and they are to meddle with 
none but the prince's subjects. You shall also 
make no noise in the streets; for, lor the watch 
to babble and to talk is most tolerable and not 
to be endured. 

Watch. We will rather sleep than talk : 
we know what belongs to a watch. 40 

Dog. Why, you speak like an ancient and 
most quiet watchman ; for I cannot see how 
sleeping should offend : only, have a care that 
your bills be not stolen. Well, you are to call 
at all the ale-houses, and bid those that are 
drunk get them to bed. 

Watch. How if they will not ? 

Dog. Why, then, let them alone till they 
are sober : if they make you not then the bet- 
ter answer, you may say they are not the men 
you took them for. 51 

Watch. Well, sir. 

Dog. If you meet a thief, you may suspect 
him, by virtue of your office, to be no true 
man ; and, for such kind of men, the lesayott 



Scene hi.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



551 



meddle or make with them, why the more is 
for your honesty. 

Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall 
we not lay hands on him ? 

Bog. Truly, by your office, you may ; but 
I think they tliat touch pitch will be defiled : 
the most peaceable way for you, if you do take 
a thief, is to let him show himself what he is 
and steal out of your company. 

Verg. You have been always called a mer- 
ciful man, partner. 

Dog. Truly, I would not hang a dog by my 
will, much more a man who hath any honesty 
in him. 

Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, 
you must call to the nurse and bid her still it. 

Watch. How if the nurse be asleep and 
will not hear us ? 71 

Dog. Why, then, depart in peace, and let 
the ciiild wake her with crying ; for the ewe 
that will not hear her lamb when it baes will 
never answer a calf when he bleats. 

Vvvg. 'Tis very true. 

Dog. Tlii.s is the end of the charge : — you, 
constable, are to i)resent the prince's own per- 
son : if you meet the prmce in the night, you 
may stay him. 81 

Verg. Nay, by'r our lady, that I think a' 
cannot. 

Dog. Five shillings to one on't, with any 
man that knows the statutes, he may stay him: 
marry, not without the prince be willing ; for, 
indeed, the watch ought ti) offend no man ; and 
it is an offence to stay a man against his will. 

Verg. By'r lady, 1 ttiink it be so. 

Dog. Ha, ha, ha ! Well, masters, good night: 
an there be any matter of weight chances, call 
up me : keep your fellows' counsels and your 
own ; and good night. Come, neighbor. 

Waich. Well, masters, we hear our charge : 
let us go sit here upon the church-bench till 
two, and then all to bed. 

Dog. One word more, honest neighbors. 
I pray you watch about Si":uior Leonato's 
door ; for the wedding being there to-morrow, 
there is a great coil to-night. Adieu : be vigi- 
lant, I beseech yon. 

{^Exeunt Dogberry and Verges. 101 

Enter Borach lo coic^ Conrade 

Dora. What Conrade ! 
Watch. [A.vidc] Peace ! stir not. 

Bora. Conrade, I say ! 

Con. Here, man ; I am at thy elbow. 

Bom. Mass, and my elliow itched ; I thought 
there would a scab follow. 

Con. I will owe thee an answer for that : 
and now forward witli tliy tale. 

Bora. Stand thee close, then, xmder this 
pent-house, for it drizzles rain ; and I will, like 
a true drunkard, utter all to thee. 

Watch. [Aside] Some treason, masters : 
yet stand close. 

Bora. Therefore know I have earned of 
pon John a thousand ducats. [be so dear ? 

(7o?i. |s it possible that any villaajr should 



Bora. Thou shouldst rather ask if it were 
possible any villany should be so rich ; for 
when rich villains have need of poor ones, poor 
ones may make what price they will. 

Con. I wonder at it. 

Bora. That shows thou art unconfirmed. 
Thou knowest that the fashion of a doublet, 
or a hat, or a cloak, is nothing to a man. 

Con. Yes, it is apparel. 

Bora. I mean, the fashion. 

Con. Yes, the fashion is the fashion. 

Bora. Tush ! I may as well say the fool's 
the fool. But seest thou not what a deformed 
thief this fashion is ? 

Watch. \ Aside] I know that Deformed ; a' 
has been a vile thief this seven year ; a' goes 
up and down like a gentleman :' I remember 
his name. 

Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody ? 

Con. No ; 'twas the vane on the house. 

Bora. Seest thou not, I say, what a deformed 
thief this fashion is ? how giddily a' turns 
about all the hot bloods between fourteen and 
five-and-thirty ? sometimes fashioning them 
like Pharaoh's soldiers in the reeky painting, 
sometime like god Bel's priests in the old 
church-window, sometime like the shaven 
Hercules in the smirched worm-eaten tapestry, 
where his codpiece seems as massy as his club? 

Con. All this I see ; and I "see that the 
fashion wears out more aiiparel than the man. 
But art not thou thyself giddy with the fashion 
too, that thou hast shifted out of thy tale into 
telling me of the fashion ? 

Bora. Not so, neither : but know that I 
have to-night wooed ]\Iargaret, the Lady 
Hero's gentlewoman, by the name of Hero : 
she leans me out at her mistress' chambef- 
window, bids me a thousand times good night, 
—I tell this tale vilely :— I should first tell thee 
how the ]n-ince, Claudioand my master, plant- 
ed and placed and possessed by my master Don 
John, saw afar off in the orchard'this amiable 
encounter. 161 

Con. And thought they Margaret was 
Hero ? 

Bora. Two of them did, the prince and 
Claudio ; but the devil my master knew she 
was Margaret ; and partly by his oaths, which 
first possessed them, partly by the dark night, 
wliicli did deceive them, but chiefly by my 
villany, which did confirm any slander that 
Don John had made, away went Claudio en- 
raged ; swore he would meet her, as he wiis ap- 
jiointed, next morning attheteinple, and there, 
before the whole congregation, shame liei- with 
what he saw o'er night and send her home 
again without a husband. 

First Watch. We charge you, in the prince's 
name, stand ! 

Sec. Watch Call up the right master con- 
stable. We have here recovered the most dan- 
gerous piece of lechery that ever was known in 
the coram on w-ealth. 181 

First Watch. And one Deformed is one o| 
them : I know Uiw j a' wears a lockt 



652 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



[Act III. 



Con. Masters, masters, — 

Sec. Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed 
Sbrth, I warniut you. 

Con. Masters, — 

First Watch. Never speak : we charge you 
let us obey you to go with us. 

Bora. We are like to prove a goodly com- 
modity, being taken up of these men's bills. 

Con. A commodity in question, I warrant 
you. Come, we'll obey you. \^Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Hbbo's apartment. 
Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula. 

Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Bea- 
trice, and desire her to rise. 

Urs. I will, lady. 

Hero. And bid her come hither. 

Urs. Well. [Exit. 

Marff. Troth, I think your other rabato 
were better. 

Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear 
this. 

Marf). By my troth, '_s not so good ; and I 
warrant your cousiu will" say so. 10 

Hero My cousin's a fool, and thou art 
another ; I'll wear none but this. 

Mar(j. I like the new tire within excellently, 
if the hair were a thought browner ; and your 
gown's a most rare fashion, i* faith. I saw 
the Duchess of Milan's gown that they praise 
so. 

Hero O, that exceeds, they say. 

Marg. By my troth, 's but a night-gown in 
respect of yours : cloth o' gold, and cuts, and 
laced with silver, set with pearls, down sleeves, 
side sleeves, and skirts, round underborne with 
a bluish tinsel ; but for a tine, quaint, graceful 
and excellent fashion, yours is worth ten on 't. 

Hero. God give me joy to wear it ! for my 
heart is exceeding heavy. 

Marg. 'Twill be heavier soon by tlie weight 
of a man. 

Hero. Fie upon thee ! art not ashamed ? 

Marg. Of what, lady ? of speaking honor- 
ably ? Is not marriage honorable in a beggar? 
Is not your lord honorable without marriage ? 
I think you would have me say, ' saving your 
reverence, a husband : ' and bad thinking do 
not wrest true speaking, I'll offend nobody : is 
there any harm in ' the heavier for a husband'? 
None, I think, and it be the right husband and 
the right wife ; otiierwise 'tis light, and not 
heavy : ask my Lady Beatrice else ; here she 
comes. 

Enter Beatrice. 

Hero. Good morrow, coz. 

Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero. 40 

Hero. Why, how now ? do you speak in the 
sick tune ? 

Beat. 1 am out of aU other tune, methiuks. 

Marg. Clap's into ' Light o' love ; ' that 
goes without a burden : do you sing it, and 
I'll dance it. 

Meat. Ye light o' love, wjthyourheelg ! then, 



if your husband have stables enough, you'll 
see he shall lack no barns. 

Marg. O illegitimate construction ! I scorn 
that with my heels. 51 

Beat. 'Tis almost five o'clock, cousiu ; 'tis 
time you were ready. By my troth, I am ex- 
ceeding ill : heigh-ho ! 

Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband ? 

Beat. For the letter that begins them all, H. 

Marg. Well, and you be not turned Turk. 
thei'e's no more sailing by the star. 

Beat. What means the fool, trow ? 

Marg. Nothing I ; but God ssnd every one 
their heart's desire ! 61 

Hero. These gloves the count sent me ; 
they are an excellent perfume. 

Beat. I am stuffed, cousin ; I cannot smell. 

Marg. A maid, and stuffed ! there's goodly 
catching of cold. 

Beat. O, God help me ! God help me ! how 
long have you professed apprehension ? 

Marg. Even since you left it Dotli not my 
wit become me rarely ? 70 

Beat. It is not seen enough, you should 
wear it in your cap. By my troth, I am sick. 

Marij. Get you some of this distilled Car- 
duus Benedictus, and lay it to your heart : it 
is the only thing for a qualm. 

Hero. There thou prickest her with a thistle. 

Beat. Benedictus! why Benedictus? you 
have some moral in this Benedictus. 

Marg. Moral ! no, by my troth, I have no 
moral meaning ; I meant, plain liolj'-thistle. 
You may tliiuk perchance that I think you are 
in love : nay, by'r lady, I am not such a fool to 
think what I list, nor I list not to think what I 
can, nor indeed I cannot think, if I would think 
my heart out of thinking, that you are in love 
or that you will be in love or that you can be 
in love. Yet Benedick was such another, and 
now is he become a man : he swore he would 
never marry, and yet now, in despite of his 
heart, he eats his meat without grudging : and 
how you may be converted I know not, but 
methiuks you look with your eyes as other 
women do. 

Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue 
keeps ? 

Marg, Not a false gallop. 

Re-enter Ursula. 

Urs. Madam, withdraw: the prince, the 
count, Signior Benedick, Don John, and all the 
gallants of the town, are come to fetch you to 
church. 

Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good 
Meg, good Ursula. [Exeunt. 

ScEKE V. Another room in Leonato's house- 
Enter Leonato, ivith Dogberry and Verge.i- 

Leon. What would you with me, honest 
neighbor ? 

Dog. Marry, sir, I would have some confi- 
dence with you that decerns you nearly. 

Leon. Brief, I pray you j for you see it 19 ft 
bwsy time with we. 



Scene i.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



663 



Dog, Marry, this it is, sir. 

Verg. Yes, in truth it is, sir. 

Leon. What is it, my good friends ? 

Dog. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little 
off the matter : an old man, sir, and his wits 
are not so blunt as, God help, I would desire 
they were ; but in faith, honest as the skin 
between his brows. 

Vtrg. Yes, 1 thank God T am as honest as 
any man living that is an old man and no ho- 
ne.ster than I. 

Dog. Compai'isons are odorous : palabras, 
neighbor Verges. 

Leon. Noiglsbors, you are tedious. 20 

Dog. It pleases your worship to say so, but 
we are tlie poor duke's officers ; but truly, for 
mine own part, if I were a.s tedious as a king, 
I could find it in my heart to bestow it all of 
your worship. 

Leon. All thy tediousness on me, ah ? 

Dog. Yea, an 'twere a thousand pound 
more than 'tis ; for I hear as good exclamation 
on your worship as of any man in the city ; and 
though I be but a poor man, I am glad to hear 
it. 30 

Verg. And so am I. 

Leon. I would fain know what you have to 
say. 

Verg. Marry, sir, our watch to-night, ex- 
cepting your worship's presence, ha' ta'en a 
couple of as arrant knaves as any in Messina. 

Dog. A good old man, sir ; he will be talk- 
ing : as they say. When the age is in, the wit is 
out : God help us ! it is a world to see. Well 
said, i' faith, neighbor Verges : well, God's a 
good man ; an two men ride of a horse, one 
must ride behind. An lionest soul, i' faith, sir; 
by my troth he is, <as ever broke bread ; but 
God is to be worshipped ; all men are not alike; 
alas, good neighbor ! 

Leon. Indeed, neighbor, he comes too short 
of you. 

Dog. Gifts that God gives. 

Leon. I must leave you. 

Dog. One word, sir : our watch, sir, have 
indeed comprehended two aspicious persons, 
and we would have them this morning ex- 
amined before your worship. 

Leon. Take their examination yourself and 
bring it me : I am now in great haste, as it 
may appear unto you. 

Dog. It .^hall be sufiSgance. 

Leon. Drink some wine ere you go : fare 
you well. 

Enter a Messenger. 

MefiS. My lord, they stay for you to give 
your daughter to her husband. * 60 

Leon. I'll wait upon them : I am ready. 

[Exennt Lconato and Messenger. 

Dog. Go, good partner, go, get you to 
Francis Seacole ; bid him bring his pen and 
inkhorn to the gaol : we are now to exami- 
nation these men. 

Verg. .And we must do it wisely. 

Dog. We will spare for no wit, I warrant 



you ; here's that shall drive some of them to a 
non-come : only get the learned writer to set 
down our excommunication and meet me at 
the gaol. lExeunt. 



ACT IV 



Scene I. A church. 

Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Leonato, 
Friar Francis, Claudio, Benedick, 
Hero, Beatrice, and attendants. 

Leon. Come, Friar Francis, be brief ; only 
to the plain form of marriage, and you shall re- 
count their particular duties afterwards. 

Friar. You come hither, my lord, to marry 
this lady. 

Claud. No. 

Leon. To be married to her ; friar, you come 
to marry her. 

Friar Lady, you come hither to be married 
to this count. 10 

Hero. I do. 

Friar. If either of you know any inward 
impediment why you should not be conjoined, 
I charge you, on your souls, to utter it. 

Claud. Know you any, Hero ? 

Hero. None, my lord. 

Friar. Know you any, count ? 

Leon. I dare make his answer, none. 

Claud. O, what men dare do ! what men 
may do ! what men daily do, not knowing 
what they do ! 21 

Bene- How now ! interjections ? Why, 
then, some be of laughing, as, ah, ha, he ! 

Claud. Stand thee by, friar. Father, by 
your leave : 
Will you with free and unconstrained soul 
Give me this maid, your daughter ? 

Leon. As freely, son, as God did give her 
nie 

Clavd. And what have I to give you back, 
whose worth 
May counterpoise this rich and precious gift ? 

D. Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her 
again. ^iO 

Claud. Sweet prince, you learn me noble 
thankfulness. 
There, Leonato, take her back again : 
Give not this rotten orange to your friend ; 
She's but the sign and semblance of her honor. 
Behold how like a maid she blushes here ! 
O, what authority and show of truth 
Can cunning sin cover itself withal ! 
Comes not that blood as modest evidence 
To witness simple virtue ? Would you not 

swear. 
All you that see her, that she were a maid, 40 
By these exterior shows ? But she is none : 
She knows the heat of a luxurious bed , 
Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty 

Leon. What do you mean, my lord ? 

Claud. Not to be married, 



554 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



[Act IV. 



Not to kuit my soul to an approved wanton. 

Leon. Dear my lord, if you, in your own 
proof, 
Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth, 
And made defeat of her virginity, — 

Claud. I know what you would say: if I 
have known lier, 
You will say she did embrace me as a husband, 
And so extenuate tlie 'forehaud sin : 51 

No, Leonato, 

I never tempted her with word too large ; 
But, as a brother to his sister, sliow'd 
Bashful sincerity and comely love. 

Hero. And seem'd I ever otherwise to you? 

Claud. Out on thee ! Seeming ! I will 
write against it : 
You seem to mo as Dian in her orb. 
As chaste as is tlie bud ere it be blown ; 
But you are more intemperate in your blood 
Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals Gl 
That rage in savage sensualitj'. 

Hero. Is my lord well, that he doth speak 
so wide ? 

Leon. Sweet prince, why speak not you ? 

D. Pedro. What sliould I speak ? 

I stand dishonor'd, that have gone about 
To linlc my dear friend to a common stale. 

Leon. Are these things spoken, or do I but 
dream ? 

D. John. Sir, they are spoken, and these 
things are true. 

Bene. This loolcs not like a nuptial. 

Hero. True ! God ! 

Claud. Leonato, stand I here ? 70 

Is this tlie prince ? is this tlie prince's brother? 
Is this face Hero's ? are our eyes our o^vn ? 

Leon. All this is so : but what of this, my 
lord ? 

Claud. Let me but move one question to 
your daughter ; 
And, by that fatherly and kindly power 
That you have in her, bid her answer truly. 

Leon. I charge thee do so, as thou art iny 
child. 

Hero. O, God defend me ! how am I beset ! 
What ]dnd of catechising call you this ? 

Claud. To make you answer tn;ly to your 
name. " ,sO 

Hero. Is it not Hero ? Who can blot that 
name 
With any just reproach ? 

Claud. Marry, that can Hero ; 

Kero itself can blot out Hero's virtue. 
AVhat man was he talk'd with you yesternight 
Out at your window betwixt twelve and one ? 
Now, if you are a maid, answer to this. 

Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour, 
my lord. 

D. Pedro. Why, then are you no maiden. 
Leonato, 
I am sorry you must hear : upon mine honor. 
Myself, my bmtiier .iiid this grieved count 1)0 
Did see iier, lie;ir her, at that hour last night 
Talk with a rufflan at her chamber-window 
Who hath indeed, most like a liberal villain, 
Coufegs'd tlie vile encounters tliey Ijave had 



A thousand times in secret. 

D. John. Fie, fie ! they are not to be named, 
my lord, 
Not to be spoke of ; 

There is not chastiiy enough in language 
Without olfence to utter them. Tlius, pretty 

lady, 
I am sorry for thy much misgovernment. 100 

Claud. Hero.wliatallerohadsttlioubeen, 
If half thy outwai'd graces ]i;;d been placed 
About thy thoughts and counsels of thy lieart! 
But iarc thee well, most foul, nxjst fair ! fare- 
well. 
Thou pure impiety and impious jjurity ! 
For tliee I'll lock up all the gates of love. 
And on mv eyelids sliall conjecture hang, 
To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm, 
And never shall it more be gracious. 

Leon, Hath no man's dagger liere a point 
for me ? \_Hero swoons. 110 

Beat. Why, how now, cousin ! wherefore 
sink you down ? 

D. John. Come, let us go. These things, 
come thus to light. 
Smother her spirits up. 

[E.teunt Bon Pedro, Bon .John, and Claudio. 

Bene. How doth the lady ? 

Beat. Dead, I think. Help, uncle I 

Hero! why. Hero ! Uncle ! Siguier Benedick ! 

Friar ! [hand. 

Leon. Fate ! take not away thy heavy 
Death is the fairest cover for her shame 
That may be wisli'd for. 

Beat. How now, cousin Hero ! 

Friar. Have comfort, lady. 

Leon. Dost thou look up ? 120 

Friar. Yea, wlierefore should she not ? 

Leon, Wherefore ! Why, doth not every 
earthly thing 
Cry shame ui)ou her ? Could she here deny 
The story that is printed in her blood ? 
Do not live, Hero ; do not ope thine eyes : 
For, did I think thou wouldst not quickly die, 
Tliought I thy spirits were stronger than thy 

shames, 
IMyself would, on the rearward of reproaches, 
Strike at thy life. Grieved I, I had but one? 
Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame ? 130 
O, one too much by thee ! Why had I one ? 
Why e\ er wast thou lovely in nij- eyes ? 
Why had I not with charitable hand 
T<jok up a beggar's issue at my gates, 
Who smirch'd thus and mired with infamy, 
I might have said " No part of it is mine ; 
This shame derives itself from unknown loins'? 
But mine and mine I loved and mine I praised 
And mine that I was proud on, mine so much 
That I myself was to myself not mine, 140 
Valuing of her, — wliy, she, 0, she is fallen 
Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea 
Hath clrops too few to wash her clean again 
And salt too little -which may season give 
To her foul-tainted flesh ! 

Bene. Sir, sir, be patient 

For m}"^ part, I am so attired in vv'ouder, 
\ kiipw not what to say. 



Scene i.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



555 



Beat. 0, on ray soul, my cousin is belied ! 
Bene. Lady, were you her l^edfellow last 

night ? 
Beat. No, truly not ; although, until last 
night, ' 150 

I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow. 
Leon. Confirm'd, confirm'd ! 0, that is 
stronger made 
Which was before barr'd up with ribs of iron! 
Would the two princes lie, and Claudio lie, 
AVho loved her so, that, speaking of her foul- 
ness, 
Wash'd it with tears ? Hence from her ! let 
her die. 
Friar. Hear me a little ; for I have only 
been 
Silent so long and given way unto 

IThi.s course of fortune 

By noting of the lady I have mark'd 160 

A thousand blushing apparitions 

To start into her lace, a thousand iimocent 

shames 
In angel wliiteness beat away those blushes ; 
And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire. 
To burn the errors that these princes hold 
Against her maiden truth. Call me a fool ; 
Trust not my reading nor my observations, 
AV^hich with experimental seal doth warrant 
The tenor of my book ; trust not my age, 
My reverence, calling, nor divinity, 170 

If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here 
Under some biting error. 

Leon. Friar, it cannot be. 

Thou seest that all the grace that she hath left 
Is that she will not add to her damnation 
A sin of perjury; she not denies it : 
Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse 
That which appears in proper nakedness ? 
Friar. Lady, what man is he you are ac- 
cused of ? 
Hero. Tliey Icnow that do accuse me ; I 
know none : 
If I know more of any man alive 180 

Than that which maiden modesty doth war- 
rant. 
Let all my sins lack mercy! my father. 
Prove j'ou that any man with me conversed 
At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight 
Maiutjiin'd the change of words with any crea- 
ture, 
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death ! 
Friar. Tliere is some strange misprision in 
the princes. [honor ; 

Bene. Two of them have the very bent of 
And if their wisdoms be misled in this. 
The practice of it lives in John the bastard, 190 
Whose spirits toil in frame of villanies. 
Leon. I know not. If they speak but truth 
of her. 
These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her 

honor. 
The proudest of them shall well hear of it. 
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine. 
Nor age so eat up my invention, 
JTor fortune piad§ guch havoc of my 
means, 



Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends, 
But they sball find, awaked in such a kind. 
Both strength of limb and policy of mind, 200 
Ability in means and choice of friends. 
To quit me of them tliroughly. 

Fnar. Pause awhile. 

And let my counsel sway you in this case. 
Your daughter here the 'princes left for dead : 
Let her awhile be secretly kept in, 
And publish it that she is dead indeed ; 
Maintain a mourning ostentatioii 
And on your family's old monument 
Hang mournful epitaphs and do all rites 
That appertjiin unto a burial. 210 

Leon. What shall become of this ? Avhat 

will this do ? 
Friar. Marry, this well carried shall on her 

behalf 
Change slander to remorse ; that is some 

good : 
But not for that dream I on this strange 

course. 
But on this travail look for greater birth. 
She dying, as it must so be maintain'd. 
Upon the instant that she was accused. 
Shall be lamented, jjitied and excused 
Of every hearer : for it so falls out 219 

That what we have we prize not tf) tbe worth 
Whiles we enjoy it, but being lack'd and lost, 
Why, then we rack the value, then we find 
The virtue that possession would not show ua 
Whiles it was ours. So will it fare with 

Claudio : 
When he shaU hear she died upon his words. 
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep 
Into his study of imagination. 
And every lovely organ of her life 
Shall come apparell'd in more piecious habit. 
More moving-delicate and full of life, 2'JO 

Into the eye and prospect of his soul. 
Thau when she lived indeed ; then shall he 

mourn. 
If ever love bad interest in his liver, 
And wish he had not so accused her, 
No, though he thought his accusation true. 
Let this be so, and doubt not but success 
Will fashion tlie event in better shape 
Than I can lay it down in likelihood. 
But if all aim" but tliis be levell'd false, 
Tlie supjwsition of the lady's death 240 

Will quench the wonder of lier infamy : 
And if it sort not well, you may conceal her, 
As best befits her wounded reputation. 
In some reclusive and religious life. 
Out of all eyes, tongues, minds nnd injuries. 
Bene. Siguier Leonato, let the friar advise 

you : [love 

And though you know my inwardness and 
Is very much unto the prince and Claudio, 
Yet, by mine honor, I will deal in this 
As secretly and justly as your soul 250 

Should with your body. 

Leon. Being that I flow in grief. 

The smallest twine may lead me. 
Friar. 'Tis well consented : presently 

away ; 



556 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



[Act iv. 



For to strange sores strangely they strain the 

cure. 
Come, lady, die to live : tins wedding-day 

Perhaps is but prolong'd : have patience and 
eudiue. 
\_Exeunt all but Benedick and Beatrice. 

Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept all 
this while ? 

Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer. 

Bene. I will not desire that. 

Beat. You have no reason ; I do it freely. 

Bene. Surely I do believe your fair cousin 
is wronged. 261 

Beat. Ah, how much might the man de- 
serve of nie that would right her ! 

Bene. Is there any way to show such 
friendsliip ? 

Beat. A very even way, but no such friend. 

Bene. May a man do it ? 

Beat. It is a man's oflice, Viut not yours. 

Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well 
as you : is not that strange ? 270 

Beat. As strauge .is the thing I know not. 
It were as possible for nie tu say 1 loved 
nothing so well as you : but believe rae not ; 
and yet I lie not ; 1 confess nothing, nor I deny 
nothing. I am sorry for my cousin. 

Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thoulovestme. 

Beat. Do not swear, and eat it. 

Bene. I will swear by it that you love me ; 
and I will make him eat it that says I love not 
you. 

Beat. Will yon not eat your word ? 280 

Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to 
it. ■ I protest I love thee. 

Beat. Why, then, God forgive me ! 

Bene. What offence, sweet Beatrice ? 

Beat. You have stayed me in a happy hour : 
I was about to protest 1 loved you. 

Bene. And do it with all tliy heart. 

Beat. I love you with so much of my heart 
that none is left to protest. 

Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee. 

Beat. Kill Claudio. 2<»1 

Bene. Ha ! not for the wide world. 

Beat. You kill me to deny it. Farewell. 

Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice. 

Beat. I am gone, though I am here : there 
is no love in you : nay, I pray you, let me go. 

Bene. Beatrice, — 

Beat. In faith, I will go. 

Bene. We'll be friends first. 

Beat. You dare easier be friends with me 
than light with mine enemy. 301 

Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy ? 

Beat. Is he not approved in the height a 
villain, that hath slandered, scorned, dis- 
honored my kinswoman ? that I were a 
man ! What, bear her in hand until they 
come to take hands ; and then, with public 
accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated 
rancor, — God, that I were a man ! I would 
©at his heart in the market-place. 

Bene. Hear me, Beatrice, — 310 

Beat. Talk with a mau out at a window ! A 
proper saying ! 



Bene. Nay, but, Beatrice, — 

Beat. Sweet Hero ! She is wronged, she is 
slandered, she is undone. 

Bene. Beat — 

Beat. Princes and counties ! Surely, a 
princely testimony, a goodly count. Count 
Comfect ; a sweet gallant, surely ! O that I 
were a man for his sake ! or that I had any 
friend would be a man for my sake ! But. 
manhood is melted into courtesies, valor into 
compliment, and men are only turned inter 
tongue, and trim ones too : he is now no val- 
iant as Hercules that only tells a lie and swears 
it. 1 cannot be a mau with wishing, therefore 
I will die a woman with grieving. 

Bene. Tarry, good Beatrice. By this hand, 
I love thee. 

BfUt. Use it for my love some other w;iy 
than swearing by it. 330 

Bene. Think you in your soul the Count 
Claudio liath wronged Hero ? 

Beat. Yea, as sure as 1 have a thought or a 
soul. 

Bene. Enough, I am eng<aged ; I will chal- 
lenge him. I will kiss your hand, and so 1 
leave you. By this hand, Claudio shall render 
me a dear account. As you hear of nie, so 
think of me. Go, comfort your I'Diisin : 1 
must say she is dead : and so, farewell. 

[Exeunt. 

Scenic II. A pi-ison. 
Enter Dogberry, Verges, and Sexton, in 
(/owns; and the Watch, with Conrade and 

BORACHIO. 

Bog, Is our whole dissembly appeared ? 

Verg. 0, a stool and a cushion for the sex- 
ton. 

Sex. Which be the malefactors ? 

Bog. Marry, that am I and my partner. 

Verg. Nay, that's certain ; we have the ex- 
hibition to examine. 

Sex. But which are the offenders that are 
to be examined ? let them come before mastei 
constable. 

Bog. Yea, marry, let them come before me. 
What is your name, friend ? 11 

Bora. Borachio. 

Bog. Pray, write down, Borachio. Yours, 
sirrah ? 

Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name 
is Conrade. 
' Bog. Write down, master gentleman Con- 
rade. Masters, do you serve God ? 

Bo^-'i 1 ^'^^' ^^^' ^® hope. 

Bog. Write down, that they hopo they 
serve God : and write God first ; for God de- 
feud but God should go before such villains ! 
Masters, it is proved already that you are 
little better than false knaves ; and it will go 
near to be thought so sliortly. How answer 
you for yourselves ? 

Con. Marry, sir, we say we are none. 

Bog. A marvellous witty fellow, 1 assure 
you ; but I will go about 'with him. Come 



fccENE I.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



you hither, sirrah ; a word in your ear : sir, I 
say to you, it is thought you are false knaves. 

Bora. Sir, I say to you we are none. 

Dog. Well, stsiud aside. 'Fore God, thej' 
are both in a tale. Have you writ down, that 
they are none ? 

Hex. Master constable, you go not the way 
'o examine : you must call forth the watcli 
that are their accusers. 

Dog. Yea, marry, that's the eftest way. Let 
the watch come forth. Masters, I charge you, 
in the prince's name, accuse these men. 40 

Firs:t Watch. This man said, sir, that Don 
John, the prince's brother, was a villain. 

Dug. Write down Prince John a villain. 
Why, this is flat perjury, to call a prince's 
brother villain. 

Bora. Master constable, — 

Dog. Pray thee, fellow, peace : I do not 
like thy look, 1 promise thee . 

Sex. What heard you him say else ? 

Sec. Watch. Marry, that he had received a 
thousand ducats of Don John for accusing the 
Lady Hero wrongfully. 51 

Dog. Flat burglary as ever was committed. 

Verg. Yea, by mass, that it is. 

Sex. What else, fellow ? 

First Watch. And that Count Claudio did 
mean, upon his words, to disgrace Hero before 
the whole assembly, and not marry her. 

Dog. villain ! thou wilt be condemned 
into everlasting redemption for this. 

Sex. What else ? 60 

Watch. This is all. 

Sex. And this is more, masters, than you 
can deny. Prince John is this morning secret- 
ly stolen away ; Hero was in this manner 
accused, in this very manner refused, and upon 
the grief of this suddenly died. Master con- 
stable, let these men be bound, and brouglit to 
Leonato's : I will go before and show him 
their examination. \_Ej:it. 

Dog Come, let them be opinioned. 

Verg. tLet them be in the hands — 70 

Con. Off, coxcomb ! 

Dog. God's my life, where's the sexton? 
let him write down the prince's officer cox- 
comb. Come, bind them. Thou naughty 
I varlet ! [ass. 

Con. Away ! you are an ass, you are an 

Dog. Dost thou not suspect my place ? dost 
thou not suspect my years ? O that he were 
here to write me down an ass ! But, masters, 
remember that I am an ass ; though it be not 
written down, yet forget not that I am an ass. 
No, thou villain, thou art full of piety, as 
shall be proved upon thee by good witness. I 
am a wise fellow, and, which is more, an 
officer, and, which is more, a householder, and, 
which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any 
is in Messina, and one that knows the law, go 
to ; and a rich fellow enough, go to ; and a 
fellow that hath had losses, and one that hath 
two gowns and every thing handsome about 
him. Bring him away. that I had been writ 
down an ass ! \_Exeunt. DO 



ACT V. 

Scene I, Before Leonato's house. 

Enter Leonato and Antonio. 

Ant. \i you go on thus, you will kill your- 
self : 
And 'tis not wisdom thus to second grief 
Against yourself. 

Leon. I pray thee, cease thy counsel, 

Which falls into mine ears as profitless 
As water in a sieve : give not me counsel ; 
Nor let no comforter delight mine ear 
But such a one whose wrongs do suit with 

mine. 
Bring me a father that so loved his child. 
Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine, 
And bid him speak of patience ; 10 

Measure his woe the length and breadth of 

mine 
And let it answer everj- strain for strain. 
As thus for thus and such a grief for such. 
In every lineament, branch, shape, and form : 
If such a one will smile and stroke his beard, 
tBid sorrow wag, cry ' hem ! ' when he should 

groan. 
Patch grief with proverbs, make misfortune 

drunk 
With candle-wasters ; bring him yet to me. 
And I of him will gather patience' 19 

But there is no such man : for, brother, men 
Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief 
Which they themselves not feel ; but, tasting it, 
Their counsel turns to jjassion, which before 
Would give preceptial medicine to rage. 
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread. 
Charm ache with air and agony with words : 
No, no ; 'tis all men's office to speak patience 
To those that wring under the load of sorrow, 
But no man's virtue nor sufficiency 
To be so moral when he shall endure 30 

The like himself. Therefore give me no coun- 
sel : 
My griefs cry louder than advertisement. 
Ant. Therein do men from children noth- 
ing differ. 
Leon. I pray thee, peace. I will be flesh 
and blood ; 
For there was never yet philosopher 
That could endure the toothache patiently, 
However they have writ the style of gods 
And made a push at chance and sufferance. 
Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon your- 
self ; 
Make those that do offend you suffer too. 40 
Leon. There thou speak 'st reason: ::ay, I 
will do so. 
Mj' soul doth tell me Hero is belied ; 
And that .shall Claudio know ; so .shall the 

prince 
And all of them that thus dishonor lier. 
Ant. Here comes the jirince and Claudio 
hastily. 

Enter Don Pedro and Claudio. 
D. Pedro. Good den, good deu. 



S58 



MUCH Abo ABOUT NOTHING. 



[Act v. 



Claud. Good day to both of you. 

Leon. Hear yon, my lords, — 

D. Pedro. We have some haste, Leouato. 

Leon. Some haste, my lord ! well, fare you 
well, my lord : 
Are you so hasty now ? well, all is one. 

D Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel witli ns, 
good old man. 50 

Anl. If he could right himself with quar- 
reling, 
Some of ns would lie low. 

Claud. Who wrongs him ? 

Leon. Marry, thou dost wrong me ; thou 
dissembler, thou : — 
Naj', never lay thy hand ujwu thy sword ; 
I fear tliee not. 

Claud. Marry, beshrew my hand. 

If it should give your age such cause of fear: 
In faith, my hand meant notliing to my sword. 

Leon. Tush, tush, man ; never fleer and 
jest at me : 
I speak not like a dotard nor a fool, 
As under privilege of age to brag GO 

What I liave done being young, or what would 

do 
Were I not old. Know, Claudio, to thj'^ head, 
Thou hast so wroug'd mine innocent child and 

me 
That 1 am forced to lay my reverence by 
And, with grey hairs and bruise of many days, 
Do challenge thee to trial of a man. 
I say thou hast belied mine innocent child ; 
Thy slander hath gone through and tlwrough 

her heart, 
And she lies buried with her ancestors ; 
O, in a tomb where never scandal slept, 70 
Save this of hers, framed by thy villanj^ ! 

Claud. My vlllany ? 

Leon. Thine, Claudio ; thine, I say. 

D. Pedro. Yon say not right, old man. 

Leon. My lord, my lord, 

I'll prove it on his body, if he dare. 
Despite his nice fence and his active practice, 
His May of youth and bloom of lustihood. 

Claud. Away ! I will not have to do with 
you. 

Leon.' Canst thou so daff me ? Thou hast 
kill'd my child : 
If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man. 

Ant. Ho shall kill two of us, and men in- 
deed : 80 
But that's no matter ; let him kill one first ; 
Win me and wear me ; let him answer me. 
Come, follow me, boy ; come, sir boy, come, 

follow me : 
Sir boy, I'll wlii i you from j'our foining fence ; 
Nay, as I am a geulleman, I will. 

Leon. Brother, — [my niece ; 

Ant. Content yourself. God knows I loved 
And she is dead, slander'd to deatli by villains. 
That dare as well answer a man indeed 
As I dare talce a serpent by the tongue : 90 
Boys, apes, braggarts. Jacks, milksops ! 

Leon. Brother Antony, — 

Ant. Hold you content. What, maii ! I 
know them, yea, 



And what they weigh, even to the ntraost 

scruple, — 
Scambling, out-facing, fashion-mouging boys. 
That lie and cog and flout, depi-ave and slander, 
Go anticly, show outward hideousnews. 
And speak off half a dozen dangerous words. 
How they might hurt their enemies, it they 

durst ; 
And this is all. 
Leon. But, brother Antony, — 
Ant. Come, 'tis no matter : 100 

Do not you meddle ; let me deal in tliis, 
D. Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not 
wake your patience. 
My heart is sorry for your daughter's death : 
But, on my honor, she was charged with noth- 
ing 
But what was true and very full of proof. 
Leon. My lord, my lord, — 
J). Pedro. I will not hear you. 
Leon. No ? Come, brother ; away ! I wfll 
be heard. [for it. 

Ant. And shall, or some of us will smart 
[Exeunt Leonato and Antonio. 
D. Pedro. See, see ; here comes the man 
we went to seek. 110 

Enter Benedick. 

Claud. Now, signior, what news ? 

Bene. Good day, my lord. 
' D. Pedro. Welcome, signior : you are al- 
most come to part almost a fray. 

Claud. We had like to have had our two 
noses snapped off with two old men without 
teeth. 

D. Pedro. Leonato and his brother. What 
thinkest thou ? Had we fought, I doubt we 
should have been too young for them. 

7?e«e. In a false quarrel there is no true 
valor. I came to seek you both. 121 

Claud. We have been up and down to seek 
thee ; for we are high-proof melancholy and 
would fain have it beaten away. Wilt thom 
use thy wit ? 

Bene. It is in my scabbard : shall I draw it ? 

D. Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy 
side? 

Claud. Never any did so, though very- 
many have been beside their wit. 1 will bid', 
thee draw, as we do the minstrels ; draw, to' 
pleasure us. 

D. Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks 
pale. Art thou sick, or angry ? 131 

Claud. What, courage, man ! What though 
care killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in 
thee to kill care. 

Bene, Sir, I shall meet your wit in the 
career, and you charge it against me. I pray 
you choose another subject. 

Claud. Nay, then, give him another staff : 
this last was broke cross. 

D. Pedro. By this light, he changes more 
and more : I think he be angry indeed. 141 

Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn hia 
girdle. 

Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ear ? 



Scene i.] 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTUtNG. 



659 



Claud. God bless me from a challenge ! 

Bcn'i. YAskle to Claiidio.] You are a vil- 
lain ; I jest iu)t : I will make it good how you 
dare, witli what you dare, and when you dare. 
Uo me right, or 1 will prote.st your cowardice. 
You have killed a sweet lady, and her death 
shall fall heavy on you. Let me hear from 
you. 151 

ClaurJ. Well, I will meet you, so I may 
have good clieer. 

J). Fcdro. What, a feast, a feast ? 

Claud, r faitli, 1 tliauk liim ; lie hatli bid 
me to a calf's head and a capon ; the whicii 
if 1 do not carve most curiously, say my knife's 
naught. Shall I not find a woodcock too ? 

Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well ; it goes 
easily. 

D. Pedro. I'll tell thee how Beatrice praised 
thy wit tlie otlier day. I said, thou hadst a 
fine wit : 'True,' said she, 'a tine little one.' 
' No,' said I, ' a great wit : ' ' Right,' says she, 
'a great gross one.' 'JSfay,' .said I, 'a good 
wit:' 'Just,' said she, 'it hurts nobody.' 
'Nay,' said 1, 'the gentleman is wise :' 'Cer- 
tain,' said she, 'a wise gentleman.' 'Nay,' 
said I, ' he hath the tongues : ' ' That I be- 
lieve,' .said she, ' for he swore a thing to me 
on Monday night, which he forswore on Tues- 
day morning ; tliere's a double tongue ; tliere's 
two tongues.' Thus did she, an hour together, 
trans-sliape thy particular virtues ; yet at last 
ehe concluded with a sigh, thou wast the 
properest man in Italy. 

Claud. For the whicli she wept heartily and 
eaid slie cared not. 

D. Fedio. Yea, that she did : but yet, for 
all that, an if she did not hate him deadly, slie 
would love him dearly : the old man's daugh- 
ter told us all. 180 

Claud. All, all ; and, moreover, God saw 
him when he was hid in the garden. 

D. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage 
bull's horns on the sensible Benedick's head ? 

Claud. Yea, and text underneath, ' Here 
dwells Benedick the married man' ? 

Bene. Fare you well, boy : you know my 
mind. I will leave you now to your gossii)- 
like humor : you break jests as braggarts 
do their blades, which God be thanked, hurt 
not. My lord, for your many courtesies I thank 
you : I must discontinue your company : your 
brotlier the bastard is fled from Messina :you 
have among you killed a sweet and innocent 
lady. For my Lord Lackbeard there, he and 
I shall meet : and, till then, peace be with liim. 

[Exit. 

D. Pedro. He is in earnest. 

Claud. In mo.st profound earnest ; and, I'll 
warrant you, for the love of Beatrice. 

D. Pedro. And hath challenged thee. 200 

Claud. Most sincerely. 

D. Pt:dro. What a pretty thing man is when 
he goes in his doublet and hose and leaves off 
his wit ! 

Claud. He is then a giant to an ape • but 
then is au ape a doctor to sucli a mau. 



I). Pedro. But, soft you, let me be : pluck 
up, my heart, aud be sad. Did he not say, my 
brotlier was fled ? 

Enter Dogbekky, Verges, and the Watch, 
with GojiitAKE and Bokachio. 

Dog. Come you, sir : if justice cannottame 
you, she shall ne'er weigli more reasons in lier 
balance : nay, an you be a cursing hypocrite 
once, you must be looked to. 

1>. P.'dro. How now ? two of my brother's 
men bound ! Borachio one ! 
Claud. Hearken after their offence, ray lord. 

D. Pedro. Oflicers, wluit offence have" these 
men done ? 

l)o<i. Marry, sir, they have committed false 
report ; moreover, they have spoken untruths; 
secondarily, they are slanders ; sixth and last- 
ly, ihey have belied a lady ; thirdly, they have 
verified unjust things ; and, to conclude, they 
are lying knaves. 

1). Pedro. First, I ask thee wliat they have 
done ; thirdly, I ask thee what's tlieir offence; 
sixth aud lastly, why they are committed ; 
aud, to conclude, wliat you lay to their cliarge. 

Claud. Rightly reasoned, and m his own 
division : and, by my troth, there's one mean- 
ing well suited. 231 

D. Pedro. Who have you offended, masters, 
tluit you are tluis bound' to your answer ? this 
learned constable is too cunning to be under- 
stood : what's your offence ? 

Bora. Sweet prince, let me go no farther to 
mine answer : do you hear me, and let this 
count kill me. I have deceived even your very 
eyes : wliat your wisdoms could not discover, 
tlie.«e shallow fools have brought to liglit : who 
in the niglit overheard me confessing to tliis 
man how Don John your brother incensed me 
to slander the Lady Hero, how you were 
brought into the orchard and saw me court 
Margaret in Hero's garments, how you dis- 
graced her, when you should marry her : my 
villany they have upon record ; which I had 
rather seal with my death than repeat over to 
my shame. The lady is dead upon mine and 
my master's false accusation ; aud, brieflj-, I 
desire nothing but tlie reward of a villain. 

D Pedro. Runs not this speecli like iron 
through your blood ? 

Claud. I have drunk poison whiles he ut- 
ter'dit. [to this? 

D. Pedro. But did my brother set thee on 

Bora. Yea, and paid me richly for the prac- 
tice of it. 

D. Pedro. He is composed and framed of 
treachery : 
And fled he is upon this villany. 

Claud. Sweet Hero ! now thy image doth 
appear 
In the rare semblance that I loved it first. 260 

JJOf/. Come, bring away the plaintiffs : by 
this time our sexton hath reformed Signior 
Leonato of tlie matter : and, masters, do not 
forget to specify, when time aud place shall 
serve, that I am au ass. 



660 



MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 



[Act v. 



Verg. Here, here comes master Signior Le- 
onato, aud the Sextou too. 

Re-enter Leonato and Antonio, with the 
Sexton. 

Leon. Which is the villain ? let me see his 
eyes, 
That, when I note another man like him, 270 
I may avoid hira : which of these is he ? 
Bora. If you would know your wronger, 

look on me. 
Leon. Art thou the slave that with thy 
breath hast kiU'd 
Mine innocent child ? 
Bora. Yea, even I alone. 

Leon. No, not so, villain ; thou beliest thy- 
self : 
Here stand a pair of honorable men ; 
A third is fled, that had a hand in it. 
I tliauk you, princes, for my daughter's death: 
Record it with your high and worthy deeds : 
'Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it. 
Claud. I know not how to pray your pa- 
tience ; 
Yet I must speak. Choose your revenge your- 
self ; 
Impose me to wliat penance your invention 
Can lay upon my sin : yet sinn'd I not 
But in mistaking. 

D. Pedro. By my soul, nor I : 

And yet, to satisfy this good old man, 
I would bend under any heavy weight 
That he'll enjoin me to. 
Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter 
live ; 
That were impossible : but, I pray you both. 
Possess the people in Messina liere 290 

How innocent she died ; and if your love 
Can labor ought in sad invention. 
Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb 
And sing it to her bones, sing it to-night : 
To-morrow juorning come you to my house, 
Aud since you could not be my son-in-law. 
Be yet my nephew : my brother hath a daugh- 
ter, 
Almost the copy of my child that's dead, 
And she alone is lieir to both of us : 
Give her tlie right you should have given her 
cousin, 300 

And so dies my revenge. 
^ dand. . O noble sir. 

Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me 1 
I do embrace your offer ; and dispose 
For hencefortii of poor Claudio. 
Leon. To-morrow then I will expect your 
coming ; 
To-night I take my leave. This naughty man 
Shall face to face be brought to Margaret, 
Who I believe Avas pack'din all this wrong, 
Hired to it by your brother. 

Bora. No, by my soul, she was not. 

Nor knew not what she did when she spoke to 

me, 310 

But always hath been just and virtuous 

\a ;iny thing that I do know by her. 

Hoy. Moreover, sir, which indeed is not 



under white and black, this plaintiff here, the 
offender, did call me ass ; I beseech you, let it 
be remembered in his puni.shment. And also, 
the watch heard them talk of one Deformed : 
they say he wears a key in his ear and a lock 
hanging by it, and borrows money in God's 
name, the Avhich he hath used so long and 
never paid that now men grow hard-hearted 
and will lend nothing for God's sake : pray 
you, examine him upon that point. 

Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest 
pains. 

Dog. Your worship speaks like a most 
thankful and reverend youth ; and I praise 
God for you. 

Leon. There's for thy pains. 

Do(j. God save the foundation ! 

Leon. Go, I discharge thee of thy prisoner, 
and I thank thee. 

Dog. I leave an arrant knave with your 
worship ; which I beseech your worship to 
correct yourself, for the example of others. 
God keep your worship ! I wish your worship 
well ; God restore you to health ! I humbly 
give you leave to depart ; and if a merry meet- 
ing may be wished, God prohibit it ! Come, 
neighbor. \^Exeunt Dogberry and Verges. 

Leon. Until to-morrow morning, lords, fare- 
well, [to-morrow. 

Ant. Farewell, my lords : we look for yoa 

D. Pedro. We will not fail. 

Claud. To-night I'll mourn with Hero. 

Leon. [To the Watdi] Bring you these 
fellows on. We'll talk with Margaret, 
How her acquaintance grew with this lewd 
fellow. [Exeunt, severally' 

Scene II. Leonato's garden. 
Enter Benedick and Margaret, meeting. 

Bene. Pray thee, sweet Mistress Margaret, 
deserve well at my hands by helping me to 
the speech of Beatrice. 

Marg. Will you then write me a sonnet in 
praise of my beauty ? 

Bene. In so higli a style, Margaret, that no 
man living shall come over it ; for, in most 
comely truth, thou deservest it. 

Marg. To have no man come over me ! why, 
shall I always keep below stairs ? io 

Bene. Thy wit is as quick as the greyhound's 
mouth ; it catches. 

Marg. And yours as blunt as the fencer's 
foils, which hit, but hurt not. 

Bene. A most manlj- wit, Margaret ; it will 
not hurt a woman : and so, 1 i)ray thee, call 
Beatrice : I give thee the bucklers. 

Marg. Give us the swords ; we have buck- 
lers of our own. 

Bene. If j'ou use them, Margaret, you must 
put in the pikes with a vice ; and they are 
dangerous weapons for maids. 

Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to yon, 
who I think hath legs. 

Bene. And therefore will come. 

[_Exit Margaret. 



Scene iii.J 



Much ado about nothing. 



561 



[Sing}^] The god of love, 
That sits above, 
And knows rae, and knows me, 
How pitiful I deserve, — 

I mean in singing ; but in loving, Leander the 
good swimmer, TroiUis tlie first employer of 
panders, and a whole bookful of these quondam 
carpet-mongers, wliose names yet run smoothly 
in tlie even road of a blanlc verse, why, they 
were never so truly turned over and over as 
my poor self in love. Marry, I cannot show it 
in rhyme ; I have tried : I can find out no 
rhyme to 'lady' but 'baby,' au iimocent 
rhyme; for 'scorn,' ' horn,' a hard riiyme ; 
for, 'school,* ' fool,' a' babbling rhyme ; very 
ominous endings : no, I was not born under a 
rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo in festival 
terms. 41 

Enter BEATRirE. 
Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I 
called thee? 

Beat. Yea, signior, and depart M'hen you 
bid me. 

Bene. O, stay but till then ! 

Beat. 'Then' is spoken ; fare yon well 
now : and yet, ere I go, let me go with that I 
came ; which is, with knowing what hath 
passed between you and Clandio. 

Bene. Only foul words ; and thereupon I 
will kiss thee. 51 

Beat. Foul words is but foul wind, and foul 
wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noi- 
some ; therefore I will depart unkissed. 

Bene. Thou hast frglited tlie word out of 
his right sense, so forcible is thy wit. But I 
must tell thee plainly, Clandio undergoes my 
challenge ; and either I must shortly hear from 
liim, or I will subscribe him a coward. And, I 
pray thee now, tell me for which of my bad 
parts didst thou first fall in love with me? (il 

Beat. For them all together ; which main- 
tained so politic a state of evil that they will 
not admit any good part to intermingle with 
them. But for which of my good parts did 
you first suffer love for me ? 

Bene. Suffer love ! a good epithet ! I do 
suffer love indeed, for 1 love thee against my 
will. 

Beat. In spite of your heart, I think ; alas, 
poor heart ! If you spite it for my sake, I will 
spite it lor yours-; for 1 will never love that 
■which my friend hates. 

Bene. Thou and 1 are too wise to woo peace- 
oblv. 

B at. It apjiears not in this confession : 
there's not one wise man among twenty that 
will [iraise himself. 

Bvne. Au old, an old instance, Beatrice, 
that lived in the time of good neighbors. If a 
man do not erect in this age his own tomb ere 
he dies, he shall live no longer in monument 
than the bell rings and the widow weejis. 

Bi'ut. And liow long is that, think you? 

Bene. Question : why. an hour in clamor 
ftud a quarter iu rheum : therefore is it most 



expedient for the wise, if Don Worm, his oon 
science, find no impediment to the contrary, to 
be the trumpet of his own virtues, as 1 am to 
myself. So much for praising myself, who, I 
myself will bear witness, is praiseworthy : aad 
now tell me, how doth your cousin ? 91 

Beat. Very ill. 

Bene. And how do you? 

Beat. Very ill too. 

Bene. Ser\e God, love me and mend. There 
will I leave you too, lor here comes one in 
haste. 

Enter Ursula. 

VrR. Madam, yon must come to your uncle. 
Yonder's old coil at home : it is proved my 
Lady Hero hath been falsely accused, the 
l)rince and Claudio mightily abused ; and Don 
John is the author of all, who is fied and gone. 
Will you come presently ? 

Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior ? 

Bene. I will live iu thy heart, die in thy lap 
and be buried iu thy eyes ; and moreover I 
will go with thee to thy uncle's. [^Exeunt. 

Scene III. A chureh. 

Enter Don Pediio, Claudio, and three or four 

loith tapers. 

Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato ? 

A Lord. It is, my lord. 

Claud. [Readiiif/ out of a seroll] 

Done to death by slanderous tongues 

Was tlie Hero that lieie lies ; 
Death, in guerdon of her wrongs, 

" Gi\ es her fame which never dies. 
So tlie life that died with shame 
Lives in death with glorious fame. 
Hang thou there n|ion the tomb, 
Praising her when I am dumb. 10 

Now, music, sound, and sing your solemn 
hymu. 

Song. 
Pardon, goddess of the night. 
Those that slew thy virgin knight : 
For the which, with songs of woe, 
Round about her tomb they go. 
Midnight, assist our moan ; 
Helji us to sigh and groan, 

Heavily, heavily : 
Graves, vawn nvd vield vour dead. 
Till death be uttered, " 20 

Heavily, heavily. 

Claud. Now, unto thy bones good night ! 

Yearly will I do this rite. 
D. Pedro. (Jood mori'ow, masters : put 
your torches out : [tie day. 

The wolves have juey'd ; and look, the gen- 
Bef<n-e the wheels of Piio'bus. round about 

D.'ipjiles the drowsy cast with spots of grey. 

Tli.itiks to you all, and leave us : fare you well. 

Claud.. Good morrow, masters : each liis 

sexeral way. 
D. Pedro. Come, let us lience, and put on 
otlier weeds ; 30 

86 



^ 



MW& Abo ABOUt i^OfltWG. 



[Act 'V. 



And then to Leonato's we will go. 

Claud. And Hymen now with luckier issue 

speed's 
Than this for whom we render' d up this woe. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. A room in Leonato's hoxise. 

Enter Leonato. Antonio, Benedick. Bea- 
trice, Margaret, Ursula, Friar 
Francis, and Hero. 
Friar. Did I not tell you she was innocent ? 
Leon. So are the prince and Claudio, who 
accused her 
Upon the error that you heard debated : 
But Margaret was in some fault for this, 
Although against her will, as it appears 
In the true course of all the question. 
Ant. Well, 1 am glad that all things sort so 

well 
Bene. Aud so am I, being else by faith en- 
forced 
To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it. 
Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentle- 
women all, 10 
Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves. 
And when I seud for you, come liither mask'd. 
[Exeunt Ladies. 
The prince and Claudio promised by this hour 
To visit me. You know your office, brother : 
You must be father to your brother's daugh- 
ter. 
And give her to young Claudio. 
Ant. Which I will do with confirm'd coun- 
tenance. 
Bene. Friar, I must entreat your x>aius, I 

think. 
Friar. To do what, signior ? 
Bene. To bind me, or undo me ; one of 
them. 20 

Signior Leonato, truth it is, good signior. 
Your niece regards me with an eye of favor. 
Leon. That eye my daughter lent her : 'tis 

most true. 
Bene. And I do with an eye cf love requite 

her. 
Leon. The sight whereof I think you had 
from me, 
From Claudio and the prince : but what's your 
will? 
Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical : 
But, for my will, my will is your good will 
May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin' d 
In the state of honorable marriage : 30 

In which, good friar, I shall desire your help. 
Leon. My heart is with your liking. 
Friar. And my help. 

Here comes the prince and Claudio. 
Enter Don Pedro and Claudio, and tioo or 
three others. 
D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair as- 
sembly. 
Leon. Good morrow, prince ; good morrow, 
Claudio : 
We here attend you. Are you yet determined 
Toniay to marry with my brother's daughter? 



Claud. I'll hold my mind, were" she an 

Ethiope. 
Leon. Call her forth, brother ; here's the 
friar ready. [Exit Antonio. 

D. Pedro. Good morrow. Benedick. Why, 
what's the matter, iQ 

That you have such a February face, 
So full of frost, of storm and cloi,diness ? 
Claud. I think he thinks upon the 'savage 
bull. 
Tush, fear not, man ; we'll tip thy horns with 

gold 
And all Europa shall rejoice at thee. 
As once Europa did at lusty Jove, 
When he would play the noble beast in love. 
Bene. Bull Jove, sir, had an amiable low ; 
And some such strange bull leap'd your 

father's cow, 
And got a calf in that same noble feat 50 

Much like to you, for you have just his bleat. 
Claud. For this I owe you : here comes 
other reckonings. 

Re-enter Antonio, with the Ladies masked. 

Which is the lady I must seize upon ? 
Ant. This same is she, and I do give you 

her. 
Claud. Why, then she's mine. Sweet, let 

me see your face. 
Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take 
her hand 
Before this friar and swear to marry her. 
Clavd. Give me your hand : before this 
holy friar, 
I am your husband, if you like of me. 
Hero. And when I lived, I was your other 
wife : [ Unmasking. 60 

And when you loved, you were my other hus- 
band. 
Claud. Another Hero ! 
Hero. Nothing certainer ; 

One Hero died defiled, but I do live. 
And surely as I live, I am a maid. 
D. Pedro. The former Hero ! Hero that is 

dead ! 
Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her 

slander lived. 
Friar. All this amazement can I qualify ; 
When after that the holy rites are ended, 
I'll tell yon largely of fair Hero's death : 
Meantime let wonder seem familiar, 70 

And to the chapel let us presently. 
Bene. Soft and fair, friar. Which is Bea- 
trice ? 
Beat. [Unmasking] I answer to that name. 

What is your will ? 
Bene. Do not you love me ? 
Beat. Why, no ; no more than reason. 
Bene. Why, then your uncle aud the prince 
and Claudio 
Have been deceived ; they swore you did. 
Beat. Do not you love me ? 
Bene. Trotli, no ; no more than reason. 
Beat. Why, then my cousin Margaret and 
Ursula [did. 

Are much deceived •. for they did swear you 



Scene tv.] 



MtTOff ADO ABOUT NoTHim. 



663 



Bene. They swore that you were almost 

sick for me. 80 

Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh 

dead for me. 
Bene. 'Tis no such matter. Then you do 

not love me ? 
Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense. 
Leo7i. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the 

gentleman. 
Claud. And I'll be sworn uix)u't that he 
loves her ; 
For here's a paper written in his hand, 
A halting sonnet of his own pure brain, 
Fashion'd to Beatrice. 

Hero. And here's another 

Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her 

pocket. 
Containing her affection unto Benedick. 90 
Bi'ne. A miracle ! here's our own hands 
against our hearts. Come, I will have thee ; 
but, by this light, I take thee for pity. 

Beat. I would not deny you ; but, by this 
good day, I yield upon great persuasion ; and 
partly to save your life, for I was told you 
were in a consumption. 
Bene. Peace ! I will stop your mouth. 

[Kissinff her. 
D. Pedro. How dost thou. Benedick, the 
married man ? 100 

Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince ; a college 
or wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my 
humor. Dost thou think I care for a satire or 
an epigram ? No : if a man will be beaten 
with brains he shall wear nothing handsome 



about him. In brief, since I do i>urpose to 
marry, I will think nothing to any i)urpose 
tliiit the world can say against it ; and tliere- 
fore never flout at me for what 1 have said 
against it ; for man is a giddy thing, and tliis 
is my conclusion. For thy part, Claudio, 1 did 
think to have beaten thee ; but in that thou 
art like to be my kinsman, live unbruised and 
love my cousin. 

Claud. I had well hoped thou wouldst have 
denied Beatiice, that I might have cudgelled 
thee out of tliy single life, to make thee a 
double-dealer ; which, out of question, thou 
wilt be, if my cousin do not look exceedingly 
narrowly to thee. 

Bene. Come, come, we are friends : let's 
have a dance ere we are married, that we may 
lighten our own hearts and our wives' heels. 

Leon. We'll have dancing afterward. 

Bene. First, of my word ; therefore play, 
music. Prince, thou art sad ; get thee a wife, 
get thee a wife : there is no staff more reve- 
rend than one tipped with horn. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. My lord, your brother .John is ta'en 
in flight, 
And brought with armed men back to Mes- 
sina. 
Bene. Think not on him till to-morrow : 
I'll devise thee brave punishments for him. 
Strike up, pipers. \_Dance. 131 

[Exeunt. 



AS YOU LIKE IT 

(written about 1599.) 



INTRODUCTION. 

Au you Like It was entered on the Stationers' register together with Henry V., Much Ado About 
Ifotidng, and Jonson's Every Man in His Humour, " to be staied," i.e. not printed ; the date is August 
4, but the year is not mentioned. The previous entry is dated May 27, 1600, and as the other plays 
were printed in 1600 and 1601, we inter that the August was that of the year 1600. The comedy is not 
mentjoned by Meres. A line, " Who ever loved tliat loved not at first sight? " is quoted (Act III., 
Sc. v., L 82) from Marlowe's Hero and Lcandtr, which was published in 1598. We may set down the 
following year, 1599, as the probable date of the creation of this charming comedy. The story is 
taken from Thomas Lodge's prose tale, Jiosalynde, Euphues Golden Legacie, first printed in 1590, and a 
passage in Lodge's dedication probably suggested to Shakespeare the name of his play. Lodge, who 
wrote this tale on his voyage to the Canaries, founded it in part on the Cook's Tale of Gameiya, 
wrongly ascribed to Chaucer, and inserted in some editions as one of the Canterbury Tales. In parts 
of his work the dramatist follows the story-teller closely, but there are some important differences. 
The heroic names Orlando, Oliver, and Sir Rowland are due to Shakespeare. It was a thought of 
Shakospeare to make the rightful and usurping dukes, as in The Tempest, brothers. In Lodge's 
novel the girl-friends pass in the forest for lady and page, in Shakespeare for brother and sister. 
Shaktispeare omits the incident of Aliena's rescue from robbers by her future husband ; love at first 
sight was natural in Arden, but a band of robbers would have marred the tranquillity of the scene. 
To Shakespeare we owe the creation of the characters of Jacques, Touchstone, and Audrey. W ritten 
perhaps immediately after Henry V., the play presents a striking contrast with that high-pitched histor- 
ical drama. It is as if Shakespeare's imagination craved repose and refreshment after the life of courts 
and camps. We are still on French soil,butiTisteadof the sound of the shock of battle at Agincourt, we, 
hear the waving forest boughs, and the forest streams of Arden, where " they fleet the time carelessly 
as they did in the Golden World." There is an open-air feeling about this play, as there is about Tke 
Merry iVives of Windsor ; but in The Merry JF/ces all the surroundings are English and real, here 
they belono; to a land of romance. For the Renaissance, that age of vast energy, national enter- 
prise, religious strife, and court intrigue, pastoral or idyllic poetry possessed a peculiar charm ; the 
quiet and innocence of a poetical Arcadia was a solace to a life of highly-wrought ambition and as- 
piralion. " Sweet are the uses of adversity," moralizes the banished Duke, and external, material 
adversity has come to him, to Rosalind, and to Orlando; but if fortune is harsh, nature— both ex- 
ternal nature and human character— is sound and sweet, and of real suffering there is none in the 
plajr. All that is evil remains in the society which the denizens of the forest have left behind ; 
and both seriously, in the characters of the usurping Duke and Oliver, and playfully, through Touch- 
stone's mockery of court follies, a criticism on what is evil and artificial in society is suggested in 
contrast with the woodland life. Yet Shakespeare never falls into the conventional, pastoral man- 
ner. Orlando is an ideal of youthful strength, beauty, and noble innocence of heart ; and Rosa- 
lind's bright, tender womanhood seems but to grow more exquisitely feminine in the male attire 
which she has assumed in self-defence. Her feelings are almost as quick and fine as those of Imogen 
(she has not, like Imogen, known fear and sorrow), and she uses her wit and bright play of intellect 
as a protection against her own eager and vivid emotions. Possessed of a delighted consciousness 
of power to confer happiness, she can dally with disguises, and make what is most serious to her at 
the same time possess the charm of an exquisite frolic. The melancholy Jacques is a sentimentalist 
and in some degree a superficial cynic, but he is not a bad-hearted egoist, like Don John ; he is a 
perfectly idle seeker for new sensations and an observer of his own feelings ; he is weary of all he 
has found, and especially professes to despise the artificial society, which yet he never really escapes 
from as the others do. His wisdom is half foolery, as Touchstone's foolery is half wisdom. Touchstone 
is the daintiest fool of the comedies, and in comparing him with the clowns of The Comedy of Errors 
or The Two Gentlemen of Verona, we perceive how Shakespeare's humor has grown in refinement. 



DRAMATIS PERSONJE. 



Duke, living in banishment. 

Frederick, his brother, an usurper of his 

dominions. 
Amiens, | lords attending on tlie banished 
Jaques, j dulce. 



Le Beau, a courtier attending upon Frederick. 

Charles, wrestler to Fredericli. 

Oliver, ) 

Jaques, > sons of Sir Rowland de Boys. 

Orlando, j 



Scene I.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



565 



servants to Oliver. 



Adam, \ 

Dennis, j 

Touchstone, a clown. 

StR Oliver Martext, a vicar. 

WiLLiAai, a country fellow iu love with 

Audrey. 
/W person representing Hymen. 



Rosalind, daughter to the banished duke. 
Celia, daughter to Frederick. 
Phebe, a sheplierdess. 
Audrey a couutry wench. 

Lords, pages, and attendants, &c. 

Scene : Oliver's house; Duke Frederick' s court, 
and the Forest of Arden, 



ACT I. 

Scene 1. Orchard of Oliver's house. 

Enter Orlando and Adam. 

Orl. fAs I remember, Adam, it was upon 
thii5 fashion bequeatlied me by will but poor a 
thousand crowns, and, as thou sayest, charged 
my brother, on his blessing, to breed nie well : 
and there begins my sadness. My brother 
Jaques he keeps at school, and report speaks 
goldenly of his profit : for my part, he keeps me 
rustically at home, or, to speak more properly, 
stays me here at home unkept ; for call you 
that keeping for a gentleman of my birth, tliat 
differs not from the stalling of an ox ? His 
horses are bred better ; for, besides thnt tliey 
are fair with their feeding, they are taught 
their manage, and to that end riders dearly 
hired : but I, his brother, gain notliing under 
him but growth ; for tlie which his animals on 
his dunghills are as much bound to liim as I. 
Besides this nothing that lie so plentifully 
gives me, the something that nature gave me 
his countenance seems to take from me : he 
lets me feed with his hinds, bars me the place 
of a brother,*- and, as much as in him lies, 
mines my gentility with my education. This is 
it, Adam, that grieves me ; and the spirit of my 
father, which I think is within me. begins to 
mutiny against this servitude : I will no longer 
endure it, though yet I know no wise remedy 
bow to avoid it. 

Adam. Yonder comes my master, your 
brother. 

Orl. Go apart, Adam, and tliou shalt hear 
h ow he will snake me up. 30 

Enter Oliver. 



Oli. 
Orl. 
thing. 
Oli. 
Orl. 



Now, sir ! wliat make you here ? 
Nothing : I am not taught to make any 



What mar you then, sir ? 
Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar 
that which God made, a poor unworthy brother 
of vours, with idleness. 

OH. Marry, sir, be better employed, and 
be naught awhile. .'59 

OrL Shall I keep your hogs and eat husks 
with tliem ? What prodigal portion have I 
spent, that I should come to such penury ? 

Oli. Know you where your are, sir ? 

Orl. O, sir, very well : here in your orch- 
ard 



Oli. Know you before whom, sir ? 

Orl. Ay, better than him I am before knows 
me. I know yuu are my eldest brother ; and, 
in the gentle condition of blood, you should so 
know me. The courtesy of nations allows you 
my better, in that you are the first-born ; but 
the same tradition takes not away my blood, 
were there twenty brothers betwixt us : I have 
as much of my father in me as you ; albeit, I 
confess, your coming before me is nearer to 
his reverence. 

Oli. What, boy ! 

Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are 
too young in this. 

Oli. Wilt thou lay hands on ine, villain ? 

Orl. I am no villain ; I am the youngest son 
of Sir Rowland de Boys; he was my father, 
and he is thrice a villain that says such a 
father begot villains. Wert thou not my 
brother, I would not take this hand from thy 
throat till this other liad pulled oat thy tongue 
for saying so : thou hast railed on tliyself. 

Adam. Sweet masters, be patient : for your 
father's remembrance, be at accord. 

Oli. Let me go, I sa}^ 

Orl. I will not, till I please : you shall hear 
me. My father charged you in liis will to give 
me good education : you have trained me like 
a peasant, obscuring and liiding from me all 
gentleman-like qualities. The spirit of my 
father grows strong in me, and I will no longer 
endure it : therefore allow me such exercises 
as may become a gentleman, or give me the 
poor alliittery my father left me by testament ; 
with that I will go buy my !(« tunes. 

Oli. And what wilt thou do ? beg, when 
that is spent ? Well, sir, get you in : I will 
not long be troubled with you ; you shall have 
some part of your will : i pray you, leave me. 

Orl. I will no further offend you than be- 
comes me for my good. 

Oli. Get you with him, you old dog. 

Adam. Is ' old dog ' my reward ? Most 
true, 1 have lost my teeth in your service. God 
be with my old master ! he would not have 
spoke such a word. 

[Exeunt Orlando and Adam. 

Oli. Is it even so ? begin you to grow upon 
me ? I will physic your rankness, and yet 
give no thousand crowns neither. Holla, 
Dennis ! 

Enter Dennis. 

Ven. Calls your worship * 



666 



^5- YOU LIKE IT. 



{Act 1. 



OIL Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, 
jiere to speak with me ? 

Den. So please you, he is here at the door 
ftud importunes access to you. 

Oli. Call him in. {Ex,it Dennis.] 'Twill be 
a good way ; and to-morrow the wrestling is. 

Enter Charles. 

Cha. Good morrow to your worshiii. 100 

OH. Good Monsieur Charles, whafs the 
new news at the new court ? 

Cha. There's no news at the court, sir, but 
the old news : that is, the old duke is banish- 
ed by his younger brother the new duke ; and 
three or four loving lords have put themselves 
into voluntary exile with him, whose lands and 
revenues enrich the new duke ; therefore lie 
gives them good leave to wander. 

Oli. Can you tell if Rosalind, the duke's 
daughter, be banished with her father ? Ill 

Cha. O, no ; for the duke's daughter, her 
cousin, so loves her, being ever from their 
cradles bred together, that she would have 
followed her exile, or have died to stay 
behind her. She is at the court, and no less 
beloved of her uncle than his own daughter ; 
and never two ladies loved as they do. 

Oli. Where will the old duke live ? 

Cha. They say he is already in the forest of 
Arden, and a many merry men with him ; and 
there they live like the old Robin Hood of Eng- 
land : they say many young gentlemen flock 
to liim every day, and fleet the time carelessly, 
as they did in tiie golden world. 

Oli. What, you wrestle to-morrow before 
the new duke ? 

Cha. Marry, do I, sir ; and I came to ac- 
quaint you with a m.atter. I am given, sir, 
secretly to understand that your younger 
brother Orlando Lath a disposition to couie in 
disguised against me to try a fall. To-morrow, 
sir, I wrestle for my credit ; and he that es- 
capes me without some broken limb shall 
acquit liim wed. Your brother is but young 
and tender ; and, for your love, I would be 
loath to foil him, as I must, for my own honor, 
if he come iu : therefore, out of my love to you, 
I came hitlier to acquaint you withal, that 
either you might stay him from his intend- 
ment or brook such disgrace well as he shall 
run into, in th.at it is a thing of his own search 
and altogether against my will. 

Oh. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to 
me, which thou shalt find I will most kindly 
requite. I had myself notice of my brother's 
purpose hereto and have by underhand means 
labored to dissuade him from it, but he is res- 
olute. I'll tell tliee, Charles : it is the stub- 
boruest young fellow of France, full of ambi- 
tion, an envious emulator of every man's good 
parts, a secret and villanous contriver against 
me his natural brotlier : therefore use thy dis- 
cretion : I had as lief thou didst break his neck 
as his finger. And thou wert best look to't ; 
for if tliou dost him any slight disgrace or if 
he do not mightily grace himsell ou thee, he 



will practice against thee by poison, entrap 
thee by some treacherous device and never 
leave thee till he hath ta'en thy life by some 
indirect means or other ; for, I assure thee, 
and almost with tears I speak it, there is not 
one so young and so villanous this day living. 
I speak but brotherly of him ; but should I 
anatomize him to thee as he is, I must bUish 
and weep and thou must look pale and won- 
der. 

Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to 
you. If he come to-morrow, I'll give him j 

his payment : if ever he go alone again, I'll 1 

never wrestle for prize more : and so God * 

keep your worship ! 

Oli. Farewell, good Charles. [Exit Charkfi.] 
Now will I stir this gamester : I hope I shall 
see an end of him ; for my soul, yet I know 
not why, hates nothing more than he. Yet 
he's gentle, never schooled and yet learned, 
full of noble device, of all sorts enchantingly 
beloved, and indeed so much in the heart of 
the world, and especially of my own people, 
who best know him, that I am altogether mis- 
prised : but it shall not be so long ; this 
wrestler shall clear .all : nothing remains but 
that I kindle the boy thither ; which now I'll 
go about. [Exit, l&i 

Scene II. Laiun before the Duke's palace. 
Enter Celia and Rosalind. 

Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, 
be merry. 

Ros. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I 
am mistress of ; and would you yet I were mer- 
rier ? Unless you could teach me to forget a 
banished father, you must not learn me how 
to remember any extraordinary i)lea8ure. 

Cel. Herein I see thou lovest me not with 
the full weight that I love thee. If my uncle, 
thy banished father, had banished thy uncle, 
the duke my father, so thou hadst been still 
with me, I could have tauglit my love to take 
thy father for mine : so wouldst thou, if the 
truth of thy love to me were so righteously 
tempered as mine is to thee. 

Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of 
my estate, to rejoice in yours. 

Cel. You know my father hath no child 
but I, nor none is like to have : and, truly, when 
he dies, thou shalt be his heir, for what he 
hath taken away from thy father perforce, I 
will render thee again in affection ; by mine 
honor, I will ; and when I break that oath, 
let me turn monster : therefore, my sweet 
Rose, my dear Rose, be merry. 

Ros. From henceforth 1 will, coz, and de- 
vise sports. Let me see ; what think you ol 
falling in love ? 

Cel. Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport 
withal : but love no man in good earnest ; nor 
no further iu sport neither tlian with safety of 
a pure blush thou mayst in honor come off 
again. 

Iio&, What shall be our sport, thea ? 




Rosalind and Celia. 



As You Like It, 9. S^t 



Scene ii.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



567 



Cel. Let us sit and mock the good house- 
wife Fortune from her wheel, tliat her gifts 
may henceforth be "bestowed equally. 

iios. I would we could do so, for her bene- 
fits are mightily misplaced, and the bountiful 
blind woman doth most mistake in her gifts to 
women. 

Cd. 'Tis true ; for those that she makes 
fair she scarce makes honest, and those that 
she makes honest she makes very ill-favoredly. 

Ros. Nay, now thou goest from Fortune's 
oflice to Nature's : Fortune reigns in gifts of 
the world, not in the lineaments of Nature. 

Enter Touchstone. 

Cel. No ? when Nature hath made a fair 
creature, may she not by Fortune fall into the 
fire ? Though Nature hath giveu us wit to 
fiout at Fortune, hath not Fortune sent in this 
fool to cut off the argument ? 60 

Ros. Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for 
Nature, when Fortune makes Nature's natural 
the cutter-off of Nature's wit. 

Cel. Peradventure this is not Fortime's 
work neither, but Nature's ; who perceiveth 
our natural wits too dull to reason of such 
goddesses and hath sent this natural for our 
whetstone; for always the dulness of the fool 
is the whetstone of tlie wits. How now, wit ! 
whither wander you ? 

Touch. Mistress, you must come away to 
your father. 61 

Cel Were you made the messenger ? 

Touch. No, by mine honor, but I was bid 
fell come for you. 

Ros. Where learned you that oath, fool ? 

Touch. Of a certain knight that swore by 
his honor they were good pancakes and swore 
by his honor the mustard was naught : now 
1"1\ stand to it, the pancakes were naught and 
Ihd mustard was good, and yet was not the 
knight forsworn. 71 

Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap 
ht your knowledge ? 

Ros. Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wis- 
dom. 

Touch. Stand you both forth now : stroke 
your chins, and swear by j'our beards that I 
am a knave 

Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou 
art. 

Touch. By ray knavery, if I had it, then I 
were ; but if you swear by that that is not, 
you are not forsworn : no more was this 
knight, swearing by his honor, for he never 
had any ; or if he had, he had sworn it away 
before ever he saw those pancakes or that mus- 
tard. 

Cel. Prithee, who is't that thou meanest ? 

Touch. One that old Frederick, your father, 
loves. 

Cel. My father's love is enough to honor 
him : enough ! speak no more of him ; you'll 
be whipped for taxation one of these days. 91 

Touch. The more pity, that fools may not 
spegJi wisely what wise meo 4q fooUsMy. 



Cel. By my troth, thou sayest true ; for 
since the little wit that fools have was 
silenced, the little foolery that wise men have 
makes a great show. Here comes Monsieur 
Le Beau. 

Ros. With his mouth full of news. 

Cel. Which he will put on us, as pigeons 
feed their young. 100 

Ros. Then shall we be news-crammed. 

Cel. All the better ; we shall be the more 
marketable. 

Enter Le Beat;. 
Bon jour. Monsieur Le Beau : what's the 
news ? 

Le Beau. Fair princess, you have lost much 
good sport. 

Cel. Sport ! of what color ? 

IjC Beau. What color, madam ! how shall 
I answer you ? 

Ros. As wit and fortune will. 110 

Touch. Or as the Destinies decree. 

Cel. Well said : that was laid on with a 
trowel. 

Touch. Nay, if I keep not my rank, — 

Ros. Thou losest thy old smell. 

Le Beau. You amaze me, ladies : I would 
have told you of good wrestling, which you 
have lost the sight of. 

Ros. You tell us the manner of the wrest- 
ling. 

Le Beau. I will tell you the beginning ; 
and, if it please your ladyships, you may see 
the end ; for the best is yet to do ; and here, 
where you are, they are coming to perform it. 

Cel. Well, the beginning, that is dead and 
buried. 

Le Beau. There comes an old man and his 
three sons, — 

Cel. I could match this beginning with an 
old tale. 

Le Beau. Three proper young men, of ex- 
cellent growth and presence. 130 

Ros. AVith bills on tlieir necks, ' Be it 
known unto all men by these presents.' 

Le Beau. The eldest of the thr^e wrestled 
with Charles; the duke's wrestler ; which 
Charles in a moment t^irew him and broke 
three of his ribs, that there is little hope of life 
in hiiu : so he served the second, and so the 
third. Yonder they lie ; the poor old man, 
their father, making such pitiful dole over 
them that all the beholders take his part with 
weeping. 140 

Ros. Alas ! 

Touch. But what is the sport, monsieur, 
that the ladies have lost '? 

Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of. 

Touch. Thus 'men may grow wiser every 
day : it is the first time that ever I heard 
breaking of ribs was sport for ladies. 

Cel. Or I, I promise thee. 

Ros. But is there any else longs to see this 
broken music in his sides ? is there yet another 
dotes upon rib-breaking ? Shall we see thi^ 
wrestling, cousiu ? 



66S 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



[Act i- 



Le Beau. You must, if you stay here ; for 
here is the place appointed for the wrestling, 
and they are ready to perform it. 

Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming : let us 
now stay and see it. 

Flourish. Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, 
Orlando, Charles, and Attendants. 

Duke F. Come on : since the youth will not 
be entreated, his own peril on his forwardness. 

Ros. Is yonder the man ? 160 

Le Beau. Even he, madam. 

Cel. Alas, he is too young ! yet lie looks 
successfully. 

Duke F. How now, daugliter and cousin ! 
are you crept hither to see tlie wrestling ? 

Ros. Ay, my liege, so please you give us 
leave. 

Dnkc F. You will take little delight in it, I 
can tell you ; there is such odds in the man. In 
pity of the challenger's youtli 1 would fain dis- 
suade him, but he will not be entreated. Speak 
to iiim, ladies ; see if you can move him. 

Cel. Call him hither, good Monsieur Le 
Beau. 

Duke F. Do so : I'll not be by. 
- Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the prin- 
cesses call for you. 

Orl. I attend them with all respect and duty. 

Ros. Young man, have you challenged 
Cliarles the wrestler ? 179 

Orl. No, fair princess ; he is the general 
challenger : I come but in, as others do, to try 
with him the strengtli of my youth. 

Cel. Young gentleman, your spirits are too 
bold for your years. You have seen cruel proof 
of this man's strength : if you saw yourself 
with j'our eyes or Ivuew yourself with your 
judgment, the fear of your adventure would 
counsel you to a more equal enter|nise. AVe 
pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your 
own safety and give over this attempt. 190 

Ros. Do, young sir ; your reputation shall 
not therefore be misprised ; we will make it 
our suit to the duke that the wrestling might 
not go forward. 

Orl. I beseech you, punish me not with 
your hard thoughts ; wherein I confess me 
much guilty, to deny so fair and excellent 
ladies any thing. But let your fair eyes and 
gentle wishes go with me to my trial: wherein 
if I be foiled, there is but one shamed that was 
never gracious ; if killed, but one dead that 
was willing to be so : 1 shall do my friends no 
wrong, for I have none to lament rae, the 
world no injury, for in it I have nothing ; only 
in the world I fill up a place, which may be 
better supplied when I have made it emjity. 

Ros. The little strength that I have, I would 
it were with you. 

Cel. And mine, to eke out hers. 

Ros. Fare yoa well : pray heaven I be de- 
ceived in you 1 210 

Cel. Your heart's desires be with you ! 

Cha. Come, where is this young gallant 
that is so desirous to lie with his mother earth? 



Orl. Ready, sir ; but his will hath in it a 
more modest working. 
Duke F. You shall try but one fall. 
Cha. No, I warrant your grace, you shall 
not entreat him to a second, that have so 
mightily persuaded him from a fir.st. 219 

Orl. An you mean to mock me after, you 
should not have mocked me before : but come 
your ways. 

Ros. Now Hercules be thy speed, young 
man ! 

Cel. I would I were invisible, to catch the 
strong fellow by the leg. [ They lorestle. 

Ros. O excellent young man ! 
Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I 
can tell who should down. 

[Shout. Charles is thrown. 
Duke F. No more, no more. 
Orl. Yes, I beseech your grace : I am not 
yet well l)reathed. 230 

Duke F. How dost thou, Charles ? 
Le Be<(u. He cannot speak, my lord. 
Duke F. Bear liim away. What is thy name, 

young man ? 
Orl. Orlando, my liege ; the youngest son 
of Sir Rowland de Boys. 
Duke F, I would thou hadst been son to 
some man else : 
The world esteem'd thy father honorable. 
But I did find him still mine enemy : 
Thou shouldst have better pleased me with 
this deed, 210 

Hadst thou descended from another house. 
But fai'e thee well ; thou art a gallant youth : 
I would thou hadst told me of another father. 
[E.reunt Duke Fred., train, and Le Beau. 
Cel. Were I my father, coz, would I do 
this ? [son, 

Orl. I am more proud to be Sir Rowland'^ 
His youngest son ; and would not change that 

calling. 
To be adopted heir to Frederick. 
Ros. My father loved Sir Rowland as his 
soul. 
And all the world was of my father's mind : 
Had I before known this young man his son, 
1 should liave given him tears unto entreaties. 
Ere he should thus have ventured. 251 

Cel. Gentle cousin. 

Let us go thank him and encourage him : 
My father's rough and envious disposition 
Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well de-i 

served : 
If you do keep your promises in love 
Biit justly, as you have exceeded all promise, 
Your mistress shall be happy. 
Ros. Gentleman, 

[Givinr/ him a chain from her neck. 
Wear this for me, one out of suits with for- 
tune, 
That could give more, but that her hand lacks 

means. 
Shall we go, coz ? 
Cel. Ay. Fare you well, fair gentleman. 
Orl. Can I pot say, I thank you ? My better 
parts 261 



SCEITH III.I 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



569 



Ar« all thrown dowu, and that which here 

stands up 
Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. 
Bos. He calls us back : my pride fell with 
uiy fortunes ; 
I'll ask him what he would. Did you call, sir f 
Sir, you have wrestled well and overthrown 
Aloro thiui your enemies. 
Cel. Will yon go, coz 7 

Hus. Have with you. Fare yoa well. 

[Exeunt RosaUncl and Celia. 
Oi'l. What i)a.ssiou hangs these weights 
upon my tongue ? 
I camiot speak to her, yet she urged con- 
ference. 

poor Orlando, thou art overthrown ! 271 
Or Charles or something weaker masters thee. 

Re-enter Lb Beau. 

Le Beau. Good sir, I do in friendship coun- 
sel you 
J'o leave tliis place. Albeit you have deserved 
High commendation, true applause and love, 
Yet such is now the duke's condition 
That he misconstrues all that j-ou have done. 
The duke is humorous ; what he is indeed. 
More suits you to conceive than 1 to speak of. 

Orl. I thank you, sir : and, pray you, tell 
.me this ; 280 

Which of the two was daughter of the iuke 
That here was at the wrestling ? 

Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge 
by manners ; 
But yet indeed the lesser is his daughter: 
The other is daughter to the banish'd duke, 
And here detain'd by her usurping uncle, 
To keep his daughter company ; whose loves 
Are dearer than tlie natural bond of sisters. 
But I can tell you that of late this duke 
Hath t;i en displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece. 
Grounded upon no other argument 291 

But that the people praise her for her virtues 
And pity her for her good father's sake ; 
And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady 
Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well: 
Hereafter, in a better world tlian this, 

1 shall desire more love and knowledge of you. 

Oi^l. I rest much bounden to you : fare you 

well. \^Eyn Lc Beau. 

Tlius must I from the smoke into the smother; 

From tyrant duke unto a tyrant brother : 300 

But heavenly Rosalind ! lExit. 

ScE.VE III. A room in the palace. 
Enter Celia and Rosalind. 

Cel. Why, cousiu ! why, Rosalind ! Cupid 
have mercy ! not a word ? 

Ros. Not one to throw at a dog. 

Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be 
cast away u[)on curs ; throw some of them at 
me ; come, lame me with reasons, 

Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up ; 
when the one should be lamed with reasons 
and the other mad without auv. 

Cel. But is all this for your"^ father ? JO 



Ros. No, gome of it is for my child's father. 
0, how full of brierais this working -day world! 

Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown 
upon thee in holiday foolery : if wo walk not 
in the troddou patlis, our very petticoats will 
catch them, 

Ros. I could shake them off my coat : these 
burs are in my heart 

Cel. Hem them away. 

Ros. I would try, if I could cry ' hem ' and 
have him. 20 

Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affec- 
tions. 

Ros. 0, they take tlie part of a better wres- 
tler than myself ! 

Cel. O, a good wish upon you ! yon will try 
in time, in despite of a fall. But, turning these 
jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest: 
IS it ijossible, on such a sudden, you should fall 
into so strong a hking with old 'Sir Rowland's 
youngest son ? 

Ros. The duke my father loved- his father 
dearly. 31 

Cel . Doth it therefore ensue that you should 
love his son dearly ? By this kind of chase, I 
should hate him, for my father hated his father 
dearly ; yet I hate not Orlando. 

Ros. No, faith, hate him not, for my sake. 

Cel. Why should i not? dotli he not deserve 
well ? 

Ros. Let me love him for that, and do you 
love him because I do. Look, here comes the 
duke. 41 

Cel. With his eyes full of anger. 

Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords. 

Duke F. Mistress, dis])atch you with your 
safest haste 
And get you from our court. 

Ros. Me, uncle? 

Duke F. Yon, cousin : 

Within these ten days if that thou be'st found 
So near our public court as twenty miles, 
Thou diest for it. 

Ros. I do beseech your grace, 

Let me the knowledge of my Vault bear witt 

me ; 
If with myself I hold intelligence 
Or have acquaintiiuce with mine own desires. 
If that I do not dream or be not frantic, — 61 
As I do trust I am not — then, dear uncle, 
Never so much as in a tiiought unborn 
Did I offend your highness. 

Duke F. Thus do all traitorg : 

If their purgation did consist in words, 
They are as innocent as grace itself : 
Let it suffice thee tiiat 1 trust thee not. 

Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a 
traitor : 
Tell me whereon the likelihood depends. 

Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter ; 
thei-e's enough. 60 

Ros. So was I when your highness took his 
dukedom ; 
So was I when .your highness banish'd him ; 
Treason is not inherited, my lord ; 



570 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



[Act ii» 



Or, if we did derive it from our friends, 
What's tliat to me ? my father was no traitor : 
Then, good my liege, mistake me not so mucli 
To thinlc luy poverty is treacherous. 
Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me spealc. 
Duke F. Ay, Celia ; we stay'd her for your 
salie, 
Else had she with her father ranged along. 70 
Cel. I did not then entreat to li ive her stay ; 
It was your pleasure and your own remorse : 
.1 was too young that time to value her ; 
But now I know lier : if she be a traitor, 
Why so am I ; we still liave slept together, 
Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat to- 
gether. 
And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans. 
Still we went coupled and inseuarable. 
Duke F. She is too subtle for thee ; and 
her smoothness, 
Her very silence and her ixitience 80 

Speak to the people, and tliey pity her. 
Thou art a fool : she robs thee of thy name ; 
And thou wilt show more bright and seem 

more virtuous 
When she is gone. Then open not thy lips : 
Firm and irrevocable is my doom 
Wliicli I havepass'd upon her; she is banish'd. 
Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, 
my liege : 
I cannot live out of her company. 
Duke F. You are a fool. You, niece, pro- 
vide yourself : 
If you outstay the time, upon mine honor, 90 
And in the greatness oi my word, you die. 

[Exeunt Duke Frederiek and Lords. 
Cel. O my i)oor Rosalind, whither wilt 
thou go ? 
Wilt thou change fathers ? I will give thee 

mine. 
I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than I 
am. 
Ros. I have more cause 
Cel. Thou hast not, cousin ; 

Prithee, be cheerful: kno\v'.st thou not, the 

duke 
Hath banish'd me, his daughter ? 

Hofi. That he hath not. 

Cel. No, hath not ? Rosalind lacks then the 
love 
Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one : 
Shall we be sunder'd? shall we part, sweet 
girl ? 100 

No : let mv father seek another heir. 
Tlierelore devise with me how we may fly, 
Whither to go and what to bear with us ; 
And do not seek to take your change upon 

yon, 

To bear your griefs yourself and leave me ont; 
For, by this heaven.' now at our sorrows pale, 
Sav wiiatthou canst, I'll go along with thee. 

Eos. Wiiy, whither shall we go ? 

Cel. To seek my uncle in the forest of 
Arden. 

/?o.<t. Alas, what d;ingerwill it betous, 110 
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far ! 
Beautj' provoketh thieves sooner than gold. 



Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire 
And with a kind of umber smirch my face ; 
The like do you : so shall we pass along 
And never stir assailants. 

Bos. Were it not better, 

Because that I am more than common tall, 
That I did suit me all points like a man ? 
A gallant curtle-axe upon rij- thigh, 
A boar-spear in my hand ; and — in my heart 
Lie there what hidden woman's fear there 
will— 121 

We'll have a swashing and a martial outside, 
As many other mannish cowards have 
That do outface it with their semblances. 

Cel. What shall I call thee when thou art 
a man ? 

Bos. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's 
own page ; 
And therefore look you call me Ganymede. 
But what will you be call'd ? 

Cel. Something that hath a reference to my 
state ; 
No longer Celia, but Aliena. 130 

Bos. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal 
The clownish fool out of your father's court ? 
Would he not be a comfort to our travel ? 

Cel. He'll go along o'er the wide world 
with me ; 
Leave me alone to woo him. Let's away. 
And get our jewels and our wealth together. 
Devise the fittest time and safest way 
To hide us from pursuit that will be made 
After my flight. Now go we in content 
To liberty and not to banishment, [.EJxe((n<. 140 



ACT n. 



Scene I. T/ie Forest of Arden. 

Enter Duke senior, Amiens, and tioo or 
three Lords, likej'oresters. 

Duke S. Now, my co-mates and brothers ia 

exile, 
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet 
Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these 

woods 
More free from peril than the envious court ? 
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, 
The seasons' difference, as the icy fang 
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind. 
Which, when it bites and blows upon my body. 
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say 
' This is no flattery : these are counsellors 10 
That feelingly persuade me what I am.' 
bvl'eet are the uses of adversity, 
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous. 
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ; 
And this our life Pxoini)t from public haunt 
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running 

brooks. 
Sermons in stones and good in every thing. 
_I^vould not change it. 

Ami. Happy is your grace, 

Tliat can translate the stubbornness of fortune 
Into so quiet aad so sweet a style. 20 



Scene hi.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



571 



Di(ke S. Come, shall we go and kill ua 
veuisoii ? 
And yet it irks iiie the poor dappled fools, 
Being native biirgliers of tliis desert city, 
Should in their own confines with forked heads 
Have tlieir round haunches gored. 

First Lord. Indeed, my lord, 

The melancholy Jaques grieves at that, 
And, in that kind, swears yoa do more usurp 
Than doth your brother tliat liath banish'd you. 
To-day my Lord of Amiens and myself 
Did steal behind him as he lay along oO 

Under an oak whose antique root peeps out 
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood : 
To the which jjlace a poor sequester'd stag. 
That from the liunter's aim had tii'en a hurt, 
Did come to languish, and indeed, my lord. 
The wretched animal heaved forth such groans 
That their disciiarge did stretch his leathern 

coat 
Almost to bursting, and tlie big round tears 
Coursed one another down his innocent nose 
In piteous i:hase ; and thus the hairy fool, 40 
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, 
Stood on the e.xtremesi verge of the swift 

brook. 
Augmenting it with tears. 

iJiike S- But what said Jaques ? 

Did he not moralize this spectacle ? 

First Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes. 
First, for his weeping into the needless stream ; 
'Poor deer,' quoth he 'thou makest a testa- 
ment 
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more 
To that which had too much : ' then, being 

there alone. 
Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends, -50 
"Tis right :' quoth lie ' thus misery doth part 
The flux of company :' anon a careless herd. 
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him 
And never stays to greet him ; ' Ay,' quoth 

Jaques, 
' Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens ; 
'Tis just tlie fashion : wherefore do you look 
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there ? ' 
Thus most iuvectively he i)ierceth through 
The body of the country, city, court. 
Yea, and of this our life, swearing that we 60 
Are mere usurpers, tyrants and what's worse, 
To fright the animals ami to kill them up 
In their assign'd and native dwelling-place. 

Duke S. And did you leave him in this 
contemplation ? ' 

Sec. Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and 
commenting 
Upon the sobbing deer. 

Duke .y Show me the place : 

I love to cope him in these sullen tits, 
For then he's full of matter. 

First Lord. I'll bring you to him straiglit. 

lExeiail. 

Scene II. A room »i the palace. 
Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords. 
Duke F. Can it be possible that uo man 

sawtUem? 



It cannot be ; some villains of my court 
Are of consent and sufferance in this. 
First Lord. I cannot hear of any that did 
see her. 
The ladies, her attendants of her chamber, 
Saw her a-bed, and in the morning early 
They found the bed untreasured of their mis- 
tress. 
6'cc. Lord. My lord, the roynish clown, at 
whom so oft 
Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. 
Hisperia, the princess' gentlewoman, 10 

Confesses that she secretly o'erheard 
Your daughter and her cousin much commend 
The jiarts and graces of the wrestler 
That did but latelj' foil the sinewy Charles ; 
And she believes, wherever they are gone, 
That youth is surely in their company. 
Duke F. Send to his brother ; fetch that 
gallant hither ; 
If he be absent, bring his brother to me ; 
I'll make him find him: do this suddenly. 
And let not search and inquisition quail 20 
To bring again these foolish runaways. 

[^Exeunt, 

Scene III. Before Oliver's house. 

Enter Orlando and Adam, meeting. 

OrL Who's there ? 

Adam. What, my young master ? my 

gentle master ! 
() my sweet ma.ster ! O yon memory 
Of old Sir Rowland I wl'iy, what make you 

here ? 
Why are you virtuous ? why do people lovo 

you ? [iaiit ? 

And wherefore are you gentle, strong and val- 
Why would you be so fond to overcome 
The bonny priser of the humorous duke ? 
Your praise is come too swiftly home before 

you. 
Know you not, master, to some kind of men 
Their graces serve them but as enemies ? H 
No more do yours : your virtues, gentle mas- 

tei'. 
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. 
O, what a world is this, wlien what is comely 
Envenoms him that bears it ! 
0/7. Why, what's the matter ? 
Adam. O unhappy youth 1 

Come not within these doors ; within tfiis roo£ 
The enemy of all your graces lives : 
Your brother — no, no brother ; yet the son — 
Yet not the son. I will not call him son 20 

01 liini I was about to call his father — 
Hath heard your praises, and this night he 

means 
To burn the lodging where you use to lie 
And you within it : if he fail of that, 
lie will have other means to cut yon off. 
I overheard him and his practices. 
This is no jjlace ; this liou.^e is but a butchery : 
Abhor it. fear it, do not enter it. 

Orl. Why. whither, Adam, wouldst tho(f 

Ivave me go ? 



572 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



[Act II 



Adam. No matter whither, so you come 
not here. 30 

Orl. What, woiildst thou have me go and 
be<^ my food ? 
Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce 
A thievisli liviuii' on tlie common road ? 
This I must do, or know not what to do r 
Yet this I will not do, do how I can ; 
I rather will subject me to the malice 
Of a diverted blood and bloody brother. 

Adam. But do not so. I liave live hundred 
crowns, 
The tlirifty hire I saved under your father, 
Wliich I did store to be my foster-nurse 40 
When service should in my old limbs lie hime 
And luiregarded age in corners thrown : 
Take that, and He that doth the ravens feed. 
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow. 
Be comfort to my age ! Here is the gold ; 
And all this I give you. Let me be your ser- 
vant : 
Though I look old, yet I am strong ar.d lusty; 
For in my youth I never did apply 
Hot and rebellious liquors, in ray blood. 
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo 50 
The means of weakness and debility ; 
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, 
Frosty, but kindly: let me go with you ; 
I'll do the service of a younger man 
In all your business and necessities. 

Orl. good old man, liow well in thee ap- 
pears 
The constant service of the antique world, 
When service sweat for duty, not for meed ! 
Thou art not for the fashion of these times, 
Where none will sweat but for promotion, 69 
And having that, do choke their service up 
Even with the having : it is not so with thee. 
But, poor old man, thou pruuest ; j rotten tree. 
That cannot so much as a blossom yield 
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry 
But come thy ways ; we'll go along together. 
And ere we have thy youthful wages spent. 
We'll liglit upon some settled low content. 

Adam. Master, go on, and I will follow 
thee. 
To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty. 78 
From seventeen years till now almost four- 
score 
Here lived I, but now live here no more. 
At seventeen years many their fortunes seek ; 
But at fourscore it is too late a week : 
Yet fortune cannot I'ecompense me better 
Than to die well and not my master's debtor. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. The Forest of Arden. 

Enter Rosalind for Ganymede, Celia for 
Aliena, "auci Touchstone. 

Ros. O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits ! 

Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs 
were not weary. 

Ros. I could find in my heart to disgrace 
my man's apparel and to cry like a woman ; but 
I must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet 



and hose ought to show itself courageous to 
X)etticoat : therefore courage, good Aliena ! 
J CeL I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go 
no further. 10 

Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with 
you than bear you ; yet I should bear no cross 
if I did bear you, for 1 think you have no 
money in your purse. 

Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden. 

Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden ; the more 
fool I ; when I was at home, I was in a better 
place : but travellers must be content. 

Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone. 

Enter Corin and Silvius. 

Look you, who comes here ; a young man aird 
an old in solemn talk. 21 ' 

Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you 
still. 

Sll. Corin, that tliou knew'st how I do 
love her ! 

Cor. I partly guess ; for I have loved ere 
now. 

Sil. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not 
guess. 
Though in thy youth thou wast as a true lover 
As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow: 
But if thy love were ever like to mine — 
As sure I think did never man love so — 
How many actions most ridiculous 30 

Hast tboii been drawn to by thy fantasy ? 

Cor. Into a thousand that 1 have forgotten. 

Sil. 0, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily ! 
If tliou remember' st not the slightest folly 
That ever love did make thee run into, 
Thou hast not loved : 
Or it thou liiist not sat as 1 do now. 
Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, 
Thou hast not loved : 

Or if thou hast not broke from company 40 
Abruptly, as my piission now nuikes me, 
Thou hast not loved. 

Phebe, Phebe, Pliebe ! [Exit. 
Ros. Alas, poor shepherd ! searching of thy 

wound, 

1 have by hard adventure found mine own. 

Touch. And I mine. I remember, when f. 
was in love I broke my sword upon a stone 
and bid him take that for couiiug a-nigh^ m 
Jane Smile ; and 1 remember the kissing of 
her batlet and the cow's dugs that her prc'ty 
chopt hands had milked ; and I remembe- tie 
wooing of a peascod instead of her, from 
whom I took two cods ;ind. giving her them 
again, said with weeping tears ' Wear these for 
my sake.' We that are true lovers run into 
strange capers ; but as all is mortal in nature, 
so is all nature in love mortal in folly. 

Ros. Thou speakest wiser than thou art 
ware of. 

Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be ware of min« 
own wit tiU 1 break.my shins against it. 60 

Ros. Jove, Jove ! this shepherd's passion 
Is much upon my fashion. 

Touch. And mine ; but it grows something 
stale with me. 



ScENfi Vl| 



AS roV LtKE IT. 



573 



Cel, I pray you, one of you question yond 
man 
If he for 2old will give us any food : 
I faint almost to death. 

Touch. Holla, you clown ! 

Ros. Peace, fool : he's not thy kinsman. 

Cor. Who calls ? 

Touch. Your betters, sir. 

Cor. Else are they very wretched. 

Ros. Peace, I say. Good even to you, 
friend. 

Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. 

Ros. I prithee, shepherd, if that "love or 
gold 
Can in this desert place buy entertainment, 
Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed : 
Here's a young maid with travel much op- 

press'd 
And faints for succor. 

Cor. Fair sir, I pity her 

And wish, for her sake more than for mine 

own. 
My fortunes were more able to relieve her ; 
But I am shepherd to another man 
And do not shear the fleeces that I graze : 
My master is of churlish disoosition 80 

And little recks to find the way to heaven 
By doing deeds of hospitiility . 
Besides, his cote, his flock's and bounds of 

feed 
Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now. 
By reason of his absence, there is nothing 
Tliat yoii will feed on ; but what is, couie see, 
And in my voice most welcome shall you be. 

Ros. What is he that shall buy his flock and 
pasture ? 

Cor. That young swain that you saw here 
but erewhile. 
That little cares for buying any thing. 90 

Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with "honesty. 
Buy thou the cottage, pasture and the flock. 
And tliou shalt have to pay for \t of us. 

Cel. And we will ciend thy wages. I like 
this place. 
And willingly could waste my time in it. 

Cor. Assuredly the thing is to be sold : 
Go with me : if you like upon report 
The soil, the proiSt and this kind of life, 
I will your very faithful feeder be 
And buy it with your gold right suddenly. 100 

\_Exeunt. 

Scene V. The Forest. 

Enter Amiens, Jaques, and others. 

Song. 

Amu Under the greenwood tree 

Who loves to lie witli me, 

And turn his merry note 

Unto the sweet bird';: throat. 
Come hither, come hither, come hither : 

Here shall he see 

No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 

/of. More, more, I pritlree, more. 



Ami. It will make you melancholy, Mon- 
sieur Jaques. 

Jaq. I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I 
can suck melancholy out of a scng, as a weasel 
sucks eggs. . More, I prithee, more. 

Ami. My voice is ragged : I know I cannot 
please you. 

Jaq. I do not desire yon to please me; I do 
desire you to sing. * '.omc, more ; another 
stanzo: call you 'em stanzos ? 

A7ni. What you will. Monsieur Jaques. 20 

Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names ; they 
owe me nothing. Will you sing ? 

Ami. More at your request than to please 
myself. 

Jaq. AVell then, if ever I thank any man, 
I'll thank you ; but that they call compliment 
is like the encounter of two dog-apes, and 
when a man thanks me heartily, methinks I 
have given him a penny and he renders me 
the beggarly thanks. Come, snig ; and you 
tliat will not, hold your tongues. 

Ami. Well, I'll end tlie song. Sirs, cover 
the wliile ; the duke will drink under this 
tree. He hath been all this day to look you. 

Jaq. And I have been all this day to avoid 
him. He is too disputable for my company : 
I think of as many matters as he, but I give 
heaven thanks and make no boast of them. 
Come, warble, come. 

Song. 

Who doth ambition shun 40 

[All together fiere. 
And loves to live i' the sun, 
Seeking the food he eats 
And pleased with what he gets, 
Come hither, come hither, come hither 
Here shall he see 
No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 

Jaq. I'll give you a verse to this note that 
I made yesterday in despite of my invention. 
Ami. And I'll sing it 50 

Jaq. Thuc it goes :— 

If it do come to pass 
That any man turn ass. 
Leaving his wealth and ease, 
A stubborn will to please, 
Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame : 
Here shall he see 
Gross fools as he. 
An if he will come to me. 
Ami. What's that ' ducdame' ? 60 

Jaq. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools 
into a circle. Til go sleep, if I can ; if I cannot, 
I'll rail against all the first-born of Egypt. 

Ami. And I'll go seek the duke : his 
banquet is prepared. [Exeitnt severally. 

Scene VI. Tlie forest. 

Enter Orlando and Adam. 

Adam. Dear master, I can go no further : 

O, I die for food ! Here lie I down, ap*! 

measure out my grave. Farewell, kind maste.. 



674 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



[Am ij/ 



Orl. Why, how now, Adam ! no greater 
heart in thee ? Live a little ; comfort a little ; 
cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth forest 
yield any thing savage, I will either be food 
for it or bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit 
is nearer death than thy powers. For my sake 
be comfortable; hold death awhile at the arm's 
end : I will here be with thee presently ; 
and if I bring thee not something to eat, 
I will give tliee leave to die : but if thou 
diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my 
labor. Well said ! thou lookestcheerly, and I'll 
be with thee quickly. Yet thou liest in the 
bleak air : come, I will l)ear thee to some 
shelter ; and thou shalt not die for lack of a 
dinner, if there live any thing in this desert. 
Clieerly, good Adam ! [Exeunt. 

Scene VII. The forest. 

A table set out. Enter Duke senior. Amiens, 
and Lords like outlaws. 
Duke S. I think he be trausform'd into a 
beast ; 
For I can no where find him like a man. 
First Lord. My lord, he is but even now 
gone hence : 
Here was he merry, hearing of a song. 
Duke S If he, compact of jars, grow mu- 
sical, 
We shall have shortly discord in the spheres. 
Go, seelc him : tell him I would speak with 
him. 

Enter Jaques. 
Fii'st Lord. He saves my labor by his own 

approach. 
Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur ! what 
a life is this, 
That your jjoor friends must woo your com- 
pany ? 10 
What, you look merrily ! 
Jaq. A fool, a fool ! I met a fool i' the 
forest, 
A motley fool ; a miserable world ! 
As I do live by food, I met a fool ; 
Who laid him down and bask'd him in the 

sun, 
And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good terms, 
In good set terms and yet a motley fool. 
' Good morrow, fool,' quoth I. ' No, sir,' quoth 

he, 
' Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me 

fortune : ' 
And then he drew a dial from his poke, 20 
And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, 
Says very wisely, 'It is ten o'clock : 
Thus we may see,' quoth he, ' how the world 

wags : 
'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine. 
And after one hour more 'twill be eleven ; 
And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe. 
And tlien, from hour to hour, we rot and rot ; 
And thereby hangs a tale.' When I did hear 
The motley fool thus moral on the time, 
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, 30 
Tllaai. fools should be so deep-coutemplative, 



And I did laugh sans intermission 

An hour by his dial. O noble fool 1 

A worthy fool ! Motley's the only wear. 

Duke S. What fool is this ? 

Jaq. O worthy fool 1 One that hath beett 
a courtier. 
And says, if ladies be but young and fair, 
They have the gift to know it : and in his brain. 
Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit 
After a voyage, he hath strange places 
cramm'd 40 

With observation, the which he vents 
In mangled forms. O that I were a fool ! 
I am ambitious for a motley coat 

Ihike S. Thou shalt have one. 

Jaq. It is my only suit ; 

Provided that you weed your better judg- 
ments 
Of all opinion that grows rank in them 
That I am wise. I must have liberty 
Withal, as large a charter as the wind. 
To blow on whoni I please ; for so fools have; 
And they that are uiost galled with my folly, 
Tliey most must laugh. And why, sir, must 
they so ? 51 

The ' why ' is plain as way to parish church : 
He that a fool doth very wisely hit 
Doth very foolishly, althougli he smart. 
Not to seem senseless of the bob : if not, 
The wise man's folly is anatomized 
Even by the squandering glances of the fooL 
Invest me in my motley ; give me leave 
To speak my mind, and I will through and 

through 
Cleanse the foul body of the infected world, 
If they will patiently receive my medicine. 61 

Duke S. Fie on thee ! I can tell what thou 
wouldst do. [good ? 

Jaq. What, for a counter, would I do but 

Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in 
chiding sin : 
For thou thyself hast been a libertine. 
As sensual as the brutish sting itself ; 
And all the embossed sores and headed evils. 
That tiiou with license of free foot hast caught, 
Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world. 

Jaq. Why, who cries out on pride, 70 

That can therein tax any private party 7 
Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea, 
tTill that the weary very means do ebb ? 
What woman in the city do I name. 
When that I say the city-woman bears 
The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders ? 
Who can come in and say that I mean her. 
When such a one as she such is her neighbor? 
Or what is he of basest function 
That says his bravery is not of my cost, 80 
Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits 
His folly to the mettle of my speech ? 
There then ; how then ? what then ? Let me 

see wherein 
My tongue hath wrong'd him : if it do him 

right, 
Then he hath wrong'd himself ; if he be free. 
Why then my taxing like a wild-goose files, 
Unclaim'd of any man. But who cornea heref 



ScEKE VIl.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



m 



Enter ORrvANT>o, with his sivord drawn. 
Orl. Forbear, aud eat no more. 
Jaq. Wliy, I have eat iioue j-et. 

Orl. Nor shalt uot, till necessity be served. 
Jaq. 0£ what kind should this cock come 
of? 90 

Duke S. Art thou thus bolden'd, man, by 
thy distress. 
Or else a rude despiser of good manners, 
That iu civility thou seem'st so empty ? 
Orl. You touch'd my vein at lirst : the 
thorny jjoint 
Of bare distress hath ta'eu from me the show 
Of smooth civility : yet am I inland bred 
And know some nurture. But forbear, I say: 
He dies that touches any of this fruit 
Till I and my affairs are answered. 

Jaq. An. you will not be answered with 

reason, I must die. 101 

Duke S. What would you have ? Your 

gentleness shall force' 

More than your force move us to gentleness. 

Orl. I almost die for food ; and let me 

have it. 
Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome 

to our table. 
Orl. Speak you so gently ? Pardon me, I 
pray you: 
I thought that all things had been savage 

here ; 
And therefore jjut I on the countenance 
Of stern commandment. But whate'er you 

are 
Tliat in this desert inaccessible, 110 

Under the shade of melancholy boughs, 
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time ; 
If ever you have look'd on better days. 
If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church, 
If ever sat at any good man's least, 
If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear 
And know what 'tis to pity aud be pitied. 
Let gentleness my strong enforcement be : 
In the which hope I blush, aud hide my sword. 
Duke S. True is it that we have seen 
better days, 120 

And have with holy bell been knoU'd to 

church 
And sat at good men's feasts and wiped our 

eyes 
Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd ; 
And therefore sit you down in gentleness 
And take upon command what help we have 
That to your wanting may be minister'd. 
Orl. Tlien but forbea'r your food a little 
while. 
Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn 
And give it food. Tliere is an old poor man. 
Who after me hath many a weary step 130 
Limp'd in pure love : till he be first sufficed, 
Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and 

hunger, 
Iwill not touch a bit. 

Duke S. Go find him out. 

And we will nothing waste till you return. 
Orl. I thank ye; aud be blest for \oui 
good, oomfort ! [iUil. 



Duke S. Thou seest we are not all alone un^ 

happy : 
This wide and universal theatre 
Presents more woeful pageants than the scfenB 
Wherein we play in. 

Jcq- All the world's a stage. 

And all the men and women merely players : 
They have tlieir exits aud their entrances ; 
Aud one man in his time plays many parts, 
His acts being seven ages. At first the in- 
fant. 
Mewling and puking in tlie nurse's arms. 
Aud tlien the whining school-boy, with his 

satchel 
And shining morning face, creeping like snail 
Unwillingly to school And tlien the lover, 
Sighing like furnace, witli a woeful ballad 
j\lade to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier. 
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the 

paid, 150 

Jealous in honor, sudden and quick iucjuarrel. 
Seeking the buble reputation 
Even in the cannon's moutli. And then the 

ju.stice. 
In fair round belly with good capon lined. 
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, 
Full of wise saws and modern in.stances ; ' 
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts 
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, 
\\'ith spectacles on nose and pouch on side, 
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too 

wide 160 

For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly 

voice. 
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 
And wliistles in his sound. Last scene of all, 
That ends this strange eventful history. 
Is second childishness and mere oblivion. 
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every 

thing. 

Re-enter Okl.\ndo, tvith Adam. 
Duke S. Welcome. Set down your vener- 
able burthen. 
And let him feed. 

Oii. I thank you most for him. 
Adam. So had you need: 

I scarce can speak to thank you for 'myself. 
Duke S. Welcome ; fail to : I will not 
trouble you 171 

As yet, to question you about your fortunes. 
Give us some music ; and, good cousin, sing. 

Song. 

Ami. Blow, blow, thou winter wind, 
Thou art not so unkind 
As man's ingratitude ; 
Thy tooth is not so keen. 
Because thou art not seen, 
Although thy breath T)e rude. 
Heigh-ho ! sing, heigh-ho ! unto the green 
holly : 180 

Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere 
foliv : 

then, heigh-bo, the holly ! 
This lilt; is most jolly. 



576 



AS rOU LIKE IT. 



[Act 111 



Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, 
That dost not bite so uigh 

As benefits forgot : 
Though thou the waters warp, 
Tliy sting is not so sharp 
As friend remember' d not. 
Heigh-ho ! sing, &c. 190 

Diike S. If that you were the good Sir Row- 
land's son, 
As you have whisper'd faithfully you were. 
And as mine eye doth his effigies witness 
Most truly limn'd and living in your face, 
Be truly welcome hither : lam the duke 
That loved your father : the residue of your 

fortune, 
Go to my cave and tell me. Good old man. 
Thou art -right welcome as thy master is. 
Support him by the arm. Give me your hand, 
And let me all your fortunes understand. 

[E:eeunt. 



ACT lU. 



Scene I. A room in the palace. 
Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, and Oliver. 

Duke F. Not see him since ? Sir, sir, that 

cannot be : 
But were I not the better part made mercy, 
I should not seek an absent argumeut 
Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it : 
Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is ; 
Seek him with candle ; bring him dead or 

living 
Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no 

more 
To seek a living in our territory. 
Thy lands and all things that thou dost call 

thine 
Worth seizure do we seize into our hands, 10 
Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's 

mouth 
Of what we think against thee. 

OIL that your highness knew my heart 

in this ! 
I never loved my brother in my life. 
Duke F. More villain thou. Well, push 

him out of doors ; 
And let my officers of such a nature 
Make an extent upon his house and lands : 
Do this expediently and turn him going. 

[^Exeunt. 

Scene II. The forest. 

Enter Orlando, with a paper. 

Orl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my 
love : 
And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, 
survey 
With thy chaste eye, from, thy pale sphere 
above, 
Thy huntress' name that my full life doth 
sway. 
Rosalind ! these trees shall be my books 



And in their barks my thoughts I'll charac- 
ter ; 
That every eye which in this forest looks 

Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where. 
Run, run, Orlando ; carve on every tree 
The fair, the chaste and unexpressive she. 

{Exit. 

Enter Corin and Touchstone. 

Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life, 
Master Touchstone ? 

Totich. Truly, shepherd, in respect of it- 
self, it is a good life ; but in respect that it is 
a shepherd's life, it is naught. In respect that 
it is solitary, I like it very well ; but in re- 
spect that it is private, it is a very vile life. 
Now, in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth 
me well ; but in respect it is not in the court, 
it is tedious. As it is a spare life, look you, it 
fits my humor well ; but as there is no more 
plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. 
Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd ? 

Cor. No more but that I know the more 
one sickens the worse at ease he is ; and that 
he that wants money, means and content is 
without three good friends ; that the property 
of rain is to wet and fire to burn ; that good 
pasture makes fat sheep, and that a great 
cause of the night is lack of the sun ; that he 
that hath learned no wit by nature nor art 
may complain of good breeding or comes of a 
very dull kindred. 

Touch. Such a oue is a natural philosopher. 
Wast ever in court, shepherd ? 

Cor. No, truly. 

Touch- Then thou art damned. 

Cor. Nay, I hope. 

Touch. Truly, thou art damned like an ilK 
roasted egg, all on one side. 39 

Cor. For not being at court ? Your reason. 

Touch. Why, if thou never wast at court, 
thou never sawest good manners ; if thou 
never sawest good manners, then thy man- 
ners must be wicked ; and wickedness is sin, 
and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous 
state, shepherd. 

Cor. Not a whit. Touchstone : those that 
are good manners at the court are as ridicu- 
lous in the country as the behavior of the 
country is most mockable at the court. You 
told me you salute not at the court, but you 
kiss your hands : that courtesy would be un- 
cleanly, if courtiers were shepherds. 

Touch. Instance, briefly ; come, instance. 

Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes, 
and their fells, you know, ai-e greasy. 

Touch. Why, do not your courtier's hands 
sweat ? and is not the grease of a mutton as 
wholesome as the sweat of a man ? Shallow, 
shallow. A better instance, I say ; come. 

Cor. Besides, our hands are hard. GO 

Touch. Your lips will feel them the soonei. 
Shallow again. A more sounder instance, 
come. 

Cor. And they are often tarred over with 
the surgery of our sheep : and would you 



Scene ii.] 



AS YOr LIKE IT. 



h;ive us kiss tar ? The courtier's hands are 
perl'mued with civet. 

Touch. Most shallow man ! thou worms- 
meat, ill respect of a good piece of flesh in- 
deed ! Learn of the wise, and perpend : civet 
Is of a baser birth than tar, the very un- 
cleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, 
shepherd. 71 

Cor. You have too courtiv a wit for me : 
I'll rest. 

Touch. Wilt thou rest damned ? God help 
thee, shallow man ! God make incision in 
tliee ! thou art raw. 

Cor. Sir, I am a true laborer : I earn tliat I 
eat, get that I wear, owe no man hate, envy 
no man'.s happiness, glad of other men's good, 
content with my harm, and the greatest of 
7ny i)ride is to see my ewes graze and my 
lambs suck. 

Touch. That is another simple sin in you, 
to bring the ewe.s and the rams together and 
to offer to get your living by the copulation of 
vattle ; to be bawd to a bell-wether, and to 
betray a slie-lamb of a twelvemonth to a 
croukcd-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out of all 
reasonable nuitch. If thou beest not damned 
for this, the devil himself will have no shep- 
herds ; I cannot see else liow thou shouldst 
'scape. 90 

Cor. Here comes young Master Ganymede, 
my new mistress's brother. 

Enter Rosalind, irifh a paper, readiiif/. 

Ros. From the east to western Ind, 
No jewel is like Rosalind. 
Her worth, being mounted on the 

wind. 
Through all the world bears Rosalind. 
All the pictures fairest lined 
Are but black to Rosalind. 
Let no fair be kept in mind 
But the fair of Rosalind. 100 

Touch. I'll rhyme you so eight years to- 
gether, dinners and suppers and sleeping- 
hours excei)ted : it is tlie right butter- 
women's rank to market. 
Eos. Out, fool ! 
■ Touch. For a taste : 

If a hart do lack a hind. 
Let him seek out Rosalind. 
If the cat will after kind, 
So be sure will Rosalind. 110 

Winter garments must be lined, 
So must slender Rosalind. 
Tliey that reap must sheaf and bind ; 
Then to cart with Rosalind. 
Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, 
Such a nut i.s Ro.salind. 
He that sweetest rose will find 
Must find love's prick and Rosalind. 
This is the very false gallop of verses : why 
do you infect yourself with them ? I'iO 

Ros- Peace, you dull fool ! I found them on 
a tree. 

Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. 
Eo8. I'll graff it with you, and then I ghall 



graff it with a medlar : then it will be the 
earliest fruit i' the country ; for you'll be rot- 
ten ere you be half ripe, and that's the right 
virtue of the medlar. 

Touch. You have said ; but whether wisely 
or no, let the foi-est judge. 130 

Enter Celia, ivith a loriting. 

Ros. Peace ! 
Here comes my sister, reading : stand aside. 
L.Cel. [Reads] 

Why sliould this a desert be ? 
For it is unpeopled ? No : 
Tongues I'll hang on every tree, 
That shall civil sayings show : 
Some, how brief the life of man 

Rmis his erring pilgrimage. 
That the stretching of a span 

Buckles in his sum of age ; 140 

Some, of violated vows 

'Tvvixt the souls of friend and friend; 
But upon the fairest boughs, 

Or at every sentence end, 
Wfll 1 Rosalinda write, 

Teaching all that read to know 
The quintes.sence of every sprite 

Heaven would in little show. 
Therefore Heaven Nature charged 

That one body should be lill'd 150 
With all graces wide-enlarged : 

Nature presently distill'd 
Helen's cheek, but not her heart, 

Cleopatra's majesty, 
Atalanta's better part, 

Sad Lucretia's modesty. 
Thus Rosalind of many parts 

By heavenly synod was devised. 
Of many faces, eyes and hearts. 
To have the touches dearest prized. 
Heaven would that she these gifts should 
have, 161 

And I to live and die her slave. 
Ros. O most gentle pulpiter ! what tedious 
homily of love have you wearied your jiarish- 
ioners withal, and never cried ' Have patience, 
good people ! ' 

Cel. How now ! back, friends ! Shepherd, 

go off a little. Go with liim, sirrah. 

Touch. Come, sheiiherd, let us make an 
honorable retreat; though not with bag and 
baggage, yet with scrip and scri|)i)age. 171 
[Exeunt Conn and Touchstone. 
\Cet. Didst thou hear these verses ? 
^TTos. O, yes, I heard them all, and more 
too ; for some of tliem had in them more feet 
than the verses would bear. 
\ tiZ. That's no matter ; the feet might bear 
tTic verses. 

Ros. Ay, but the feet were lame and could 
not bear themselves without the verse and 
therefore stood lamely in the ver.-:c. 180 

\ C'e^. But didst thou hear without wonder- 
iit^Hiow thy name should be hanged and 
carved upon these trees ? 

Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of 
tiie wonder before you came ; for look hers 



578 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



[Act hi. 



what I found on a palm-tree. I was never 
so be-rhymed since Pythagoras' time, that I 
was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remem- 
ber. 
^ Cel. Trow you who hath done this ? 

^os. Is it a man ? 190 

Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, 
about his neck. Change you color ? 

Ros. I prithee, who V 
'• Cel. Lord, Lord ! it is a hard matter for 
friends to meet ; but mountains maj be re- 
moved with earthquakes and so encounter. 

Eos. Nay, but who is it ? 
\Cel. Is it possible ? 

Ros. Nay, I prithee now with most peti- 
tionary vehemence, tell me who it is. 200 

\Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most 
wonderful wonderful ! and yet again wonder- 
ful, and after that, out of all hooping ! 

Ros. Good my complexion ! dost thou think, 
though I am caparisoned like a man, I have a 
doublet and hose in my disposition ? One inch 
of delay more is a South-sea of discovery ; I 
prithee,' tell me Avho is it quickly, and speak 
apace. I would thou couldst stammer, that 
thou mightst pour this concealed man out of 
thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow- 
mouthed bottle, either too much at once, or 
none at all. I prithee, take the cork out of 
thy mouth that I may drink thy tidings. 
\Cel. So you may put a man in your belly. 

'Ros. Is he of God's making ? What man- 
■ ner of man ? Is his head worth a hat, or his 
chin worth a beard ? 
- Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard. 

Ros. Why, God will send more, if the man 
will be thankful : let me stay the growth 
of his beard, if thou delay me riot the knowl- 
edge of his chin. 

Pel. It is young Orlando, that tripped up 
the wrestler's heels and your heart both in an 
Instant. 

Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking : 
speak, sad brow and true maid. 

Cel. I' faith, coz, 'tis he. 

Ros. Orlando ? 

Cel. Orlando. 230 

Ros. Alas the day ! what shall I do with 
my doublet and hose ? What did he when 
thou sawest him ? What said he ? How 
looked he ? Wherein went he ? What makes 
him here ? Did he ask for me ? Where re- 
mains he ? How parted he with thee ? and 
when shalt thou see him again ? Answer me 
in one word. 

'Cel. You must borrow me Gargantua's 
mouth first : 'tis a word too great for any 
mouth of this age's size. To say ay and no to 
these particulars is more than to answer in a 
catechism. 241 

Ros. But doth he know that I am in this 
forest and in man's apparel ? Looks he as 
freshly as he did the day he wrestled ? 

Cel. It is as easy to count atomies as to re- 
solve the propositions of a lover ; but take a 
taste of my finding him, and relish it with good 



observance. I found him under a tree, like a 
dropped acorn. 

Ros. It may well be called Jove's tree, 
when it drops forth such fruit. 250 

Cel. Give me audience, good madam. 

Ros. Proceed. 
\jCel. There lay he, stretched along, like a 
wounded knight. 

Ros. Tliough it be pity to see such a sight, 
it well becomes the ground. 
'i Cel. Cry ' holla ' to thy tongue, I prithee ; 
it curvets unseasonably. He was furnished 
like a hunter. 259 

Ros. O, ominous I he comes to kill my 
heart. 

Cel. I would sing my song without a bur- 
den : thou briugest me out of tune. 

Ros. Do you not know I am a woman ? 
when I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on. 

Cel. You bring me out. Soft 1 comes he ivot 
here ? 

Enter Orlando and Jaques. 

Ros. 'Tis he : slink by, and note him. 

Jaq. I thank you for your company ; but, 
good faith, I had as lief have been myself 
alone. 270 

Orl. And so had I ; but yet, for fashion 
sake, I thank you too for your society. 

Jaq. God be wi' you : let's meet as little* as 
we can. 

Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers. 

Jaq. I pray you, mar no more trees with 
writing love-songs in their barks. 

Orl. I pray you, mar no more of my verses 
with reading them ill-favoredly. 

Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name f 2fO 

0)i. Yes, just. 

Jaq. I do not like her name. 

Orl There was no thought of pleasing y»u 
when she was christened. 

Jaq. What stature is she of ? 

Oi'l. Just as high as my heart. 

Jaq. You are full of pretty answers. Have 
you not been acquainted with goldsnsiUis' 
wives, and conned them out of rings ? 289 

Orl. Not so; but I answer you right painted 
cloth, from whence you have studied jour 
questions. 

Jaq. You have a nimble wit : I think 'twaa 
made of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down 
with me ? and we two will rail against our 
mistress the world and all our misery. 

Orl. I will chide no breather in the world 
but myself, against whom I know most faults. 

Jaq. The worst fault you have is to be in 
love. 300 

Orl. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your 
best virtue. I am weary of you. 

Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool 
when I found you. 

Orl. He is drowned in the brook : look but 
in, and you shall see him. 

Jaq. There I shall see mine own figure. 

Orl. Which I take to be either a fool w t 
cipben 



Scene ii-J 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



679 



Jaq. I'll tarry no longer with you : fare- 
well, good Signior Love. 'MO 
Orl. I am glad of your departure : adieu, 
good Monsieur Melancholy. [Exit Jaqnes. 
Iio$. [Aside to Cclia] I will speak to him, 
like a saucy lackey and under that habit play 
the knave with liini. Do you hear, forester ? 
Orl. Very well : what would you ? 

Jlos. I pray you, what is't o'clock ? 

Orl. You should ask me wliat time o' day : 
there'H no clock in tlie forest. ol9 

Rds. Tlien there is no true lover in tlie 
'orost ; else sighing every minute and groan- 
ing every hour would detect tlie lazy loot of 
Time as well as a clock. 

Orl. And wl>y not the swift foot of Time ? 
had not that been as proper ? 

Hud. By no means, sir : Time travels in 
divers paces with divers persons. I'll tell you 
who Time ambles withal, who Time trots with- 
al, who Time gallops withal and who he stjinda 
still withal. 

Orl. I iirithee, who doth he trot withal. 

Eos. Marry, he tnjts hard with a young 
maid between tlie contract of her marriage and 
the day it is solemnized : if the interim be but 
a se'nnight, Time's pace is so hard that it 
seems tlie length of seven year. 

Orl. Who ambles Time withal ? 

Ros. With a priest tliat lacks Latin and a 
rich man that hath not the gout, for the one 
sleeps easily because he cannot study, and the 
other lives merrily because he feels no pain, 
tlie one lacking the burden of lean and waste- 
'id learning, the other knowing no burden of 
eavy tedious penury ; these Time ambles 
withal. 

Orl. Who doth he gallop withal ? 

/?a.s. With a thief to the gallows, for though 
he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks him- 
self too soon tiiere. 

on. Who stays it still withal ? 

Ros. With lawyers in the vacation ; for 
they sleep between term and terra and then 
they perceive not how Time moves. 351 

Orl. Where dwell you, pretty youth ? 

Ros. With this shepherdess, my sister; here 
in tlie skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a 
petticoat. 

Orl. Are you native of this place ? 

Ros. As the cony that you see dwell where 
she is kindled. 

Orl. Your accent Is something finer than you 
could purchase in so removed a dwelling. 360 

Ros. I have been told so of many : but in- 
deed an old religious uncle of mine taught me 
to speak, who was in his youth an inland 
man ; one that knew courtshi)) too well, for 
there lie fell in love. I have heard him read 
many lectures against it, and I thank God I 
ani not a woman, to be touched with so many 
giddy offences as he hath generally taxed their 
whole sex withal. 

Orl. Can you remember any of the princi- 
pal e^ ils that he laid to the charge of wo- 
men? 370 



Ros. There were none principal ; they wer« 
all like one anotlier as luilf-pence are, every 
(jue fault seeming monstrous till his fellow 
fault came to match it. 
Orl. I prithee, recount some of them. 
Ros. No, I will not cast away my physic 
but on tlio.se that arc sick. There is a man 
liaiints the forest, that abuses our young plants 
with carving ' Kosalind ' on their barks; hangs 
odes upon hawthorns and elegies on bram- 
bles, all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosa- 
lind : if I could meet tliat fancy-monger, I 
would give him some good counsel, for he 
seems to have the quotidian of love upon him. 
Orl. I am he that is so love-shaked : I pray 
you tell me your remedy. 

Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks 
upon you : he taught me how to know a man 
in love ; in which ca,ge of rushes I am sure 
you are not luisoner. 3{tO 

Orl. What were his marks ? 
Ros. A lean cheek, which you have not, a 
blue eye and sunken, which you have not, an 
unquestionable spirit, which you have not, a 
beard neglected, which you have not ; but I 
pardon you for that, for simply your liaving 
in beard is a younger brother's revenue : then 
your hose should be ungartered, your bonnet 
unhanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe 
untied and every thing about you demonstrat- 
ing a careless desolation ; but you are no such 
man ; you are rather point-device in yoiir ac- 
coutrements as loving yourself than seeming 
the lover of any other. 

Orl. Fair youth, I would I coidd make thee 
believe I love. 

Ros. Me believe it ! you may as soon make 
her that you love believe it ; which, I warrant, 
she is apter to do than to confess she does ; 
that is one of the points in the which women 
still give the lie to their consciences. But, 
in good sooth, are you he that hangs the 
verses on the trees, wherein Kosalind is .so 
admired ? 

Orl. I swear to tliee, youth, by the white 
hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortun- 
ate he. 

Ros. But are you so much in love as your 
rhymes speak ? 

Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason can express 
how much. 419 

Ros. Love is merely a madness, and, I tell 
you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip 
as madmen do : and the reascm why they are 
not so punished and cured is, that the lunacy 
is so ordinary that the whippers are in love 
too. Yet I profess curing it by counsel. 
Orl. Did you ever cure any .so ? 
Ros. Yes, one, and in this manner. He was 
to imagine me his love, his mistress ; and I 
set him everyday to woo me: at wliich time 
would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, 
be effeminate, changeable, longing and liking, 
proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, 
full of tears, full of smiles, for every passion 
something and for no passion truly any thing, 



680 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



[Act III. 



as boys and women are for the most part cat- 
tle of this color ; would now like him, now 
loathe him ; then entertain him, then for- 
swear him ; now weep for him, then spit at 
him ; that I drave my suitor from his mad 
humor of love to a living humor of madness ; 
which was, to forswear the full stream of tlie 
world, and to live in a nook merelj' monastic. 
And thus I cured him ; and this way will I 
taivc upon me to wash your liver as clean as a 
sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be 
one spot of love in't. 

Orl. I would not be cured, youth. 

Rqs. I would cure you, if you Avould but 
call me Rosalind and come every day to my 
cote and woo me. 

Oii. Now, by the faith of my love, I will : 
tell me where it is. 450 

Ros. Go with me to it and I'll show it you : 
and by the way you shall tell me where in the 
forest you live. Will you go ? 

Orl. With all my lieart,"good youth. 

Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind. 
Come, sister, will you go ? {Exeunt, 

Scene III. The forest. 

Enter Touchstone and Audrey ; Jaques 
behind. 

Touch. Come apace, good Audrey : I will 
fetp.Ji up your goats, Audrey. And how, Au- 
drey ? am I the man yet? doth my simple 
feature content you ? 

And. Your features ! Lord warrant us ! 
what features ! 

Touch. I am here with thee and tliy goats, 
as the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was 
among the Goths. 

Jaq. [Aside:] O knowledge ill-inhabited, 
worse than Jove in a thatched house ! 11 

Touch. When a man's verses cannot be 
understood, nor a man's good wit seconded 
witli the forward child Understanding, it 
strikes a man more dead than a great reckon- 
ing in a little room. Truly, I would the gods 
liad made thee poetical. 

And. I do not know what 'poetical ' is : is 
it honest in deed and word ? is it a true thing? 

Touch. No, truly ; for the truest poetry is 
the most feigning ; and lovers are given to 
poetry, and what they swear in poetry may be 
said as lovers they do fein. 

And. Do you wish then that the gods had 
made me poetical ? 

Tonch. I do, truly ; for thou swearest to 
me thou art honest : now, if thou were a poet, 
I might have some hope thou didst feign. 

A nd. Would you not have me honest ? 

Touch. No, truly, unless thou wert hard- 
favored ; for honesty coupled to beauty is to 
have honey a sauce "to sugar. 31 

Jaq. [Aside] A material fool ! 

And. Well, I am not fair ; and therefore I 
pray the gods make me honest. 

Tmich. Truly, and to cast away honesty 



upon a foul slut were to put good meat into an 
unclean dish. 

And. I am not a slut, though I thank the 
gods I am foul. 39 

Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy 
foulness ! sluttishness may come hereafter. 
But be it as it may be, I will marry thee, and 
to that end I have been with Sir Oliver Mar- 
text, tlie vicar of the next village, who hath 
promised to meet me in this place of the forest 
and to couple us. 

Jaq. [Aside] I would fain see this meeting. 

And. Well, the gods give us joy ! 

Touch. Amen. A man may, if he were of 
a fearful heart, stagger in this attempt ; jbr 
here we have no temple but the wood, no as- 
sembly but horn-beasts. But what though ? 
Courage ! As horns are odious, they are ne- 
cessary. It is said, ' many a man knows no 
end of his goods : ' right ; many a man has 
good horns, and knows no end of them. Well, 
that is the dowry of his wife ; 'tis none of his 
own getting. Horns? Even so. Poor men 
alone ? No, no ; the noblest deer hath them 
as huge as the rascal. Is the single man 
therefore blessed ? No : as a walled town is 
more worthier than a village, so is the fore- 
head of a married man more honorable than 
the bare brow of a bachelor ; and by how 
much defence is better than no skill, by so 
much is a horn more precious than to want. 
Here comes Sir Oliver. 

Enter Sm Oliver Martext. 

Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met : will you 
dispatch us here under this tree, or shall we 
go with you to your chapel ? 

Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the 
woman ? 

Touch. I will not take her on gift of auy 
man. 

Sir Oh. Truly, she must be given, or the 
marriage is not lawful. 71 

Jaq. [Advancing] Proceed, proceed : I'll 
give her. 

Tonch. Good even, good Master What-ye- 
call't : how do you, sir ? You are very well 
met : God 'ild you for your last company : I 
am very glad to see you : even a toy in hand 
here, sir : nay, pray be covered. 

Jaq. Will you be married, motley ? 79 

Touch. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the 
horse his curb and the falcon her bells, soman 
hath his desires ; and as pigeons bill, so wed- 
lock would be nibbling. 

Jaq. And will you, being a man of your 
breeding, be married under a bush like a bog- 
gar ? Get you to church, and have a g<iod 
]n'iest tliat can tell you what marriage is : this 
fellow will but join you together as they join 
wainscot ; then one of you will prove a shrunk 
panel and, like green timber, warp, warp. !K) 

Touch. [.4s/d'j] I am not in the mind but I 
were better to be married of him than of an- 
other : for he is not like to marry me wel' ; 




Touchstone and Audrey. 



As You LiKR It. p. 580 



Scene v.l 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



581 



and nut beiny well nuiniecl, it will be a good 
excuse for nie hereafter to leave my wife. 

Jail- Go thou with me, and let me counsel 
thee. 

Touch. Come, sweet Audrey : 
We must be married, or we must live in baw- 
dry. 
Farewell, good Master Oliver : not, — 1(X) 

< » sweet Oliver, 
O brave Oliver, 
Leave me not behind thee : 
but,— 

Wind away, 
Begone, I say, 
I will not to wedding with thee. 
[Exetiiit Jiiques, Toiicli.<litiiP nthl Audrnj. 
Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter : ne'er a fantastical 
knave of tliem all shall flout me out of mv 
calling. [Exit. WJ 

Scene IV. The forest. 

Enter Rosalind luid Cklia. 

Ros. Never talk to me ; I will weep. 

(M. Do, I prithee ; but yet have the grace 
to consider that tears do not become a man. 

Ros. But have I not cause to weej) ? 

t'el. As good cause as one would desire ; 
therefore weep. 

Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling 
color. 

('el. Something browner than Judas's : 
uiarry, his kisses are .hidas's own children. 10 

Ros. I' faith, his hair is of a good color. 

t'el. An excellent color : your chestnut was 
<'ver the only color. 

Ros. And his kissing is as full of .sancity as 
the touch of holy bread. 

L'el. He hath bought a i)air of cast lips of 
Diana : a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses 
not more religiously ; the very ice of chastity 
is in them. 

Ro.s. But why did he swear he would come 
this morning, and cc«ues not? 21 

('el. Nav, certainly, there is no truth in him. 

Ros. Do you thinlc so? 

(Jel. Yes ; I think he is not a pick-purs<i 
nor a horse-stealer, but for his verity in love, 
I do think him as concave as a covered goblet 
or a worm-eaten nut. 

Ros. Not true in love ? 

CW. Yes, when he is in ; but I think he is 
not in. ;5() 

Ros. You have heard him swear downright 
he was. 

t'el. ' Was ' is not ' is : ' besides, the oath 
of a lover is no stronger than the word of a 
t,ii)ster ; they are both the confirmer of false 
icckonings. He attends here in the forest on 
the duke your father. 

Ros. I met the duke yesterday and had 
much question with him : he asked me of what 
parentage I was ; 1 told him, of .as good as he; 
so he laughed and let me go. But what talk 
we of fatheis, when there is such a man as 
Orlando ? , 



C'el. O, that's a brave man ! he writes brave 
verses, si)eaks brave w ords, swears brave oath.s 
and breaks them bravely, ipiite traver.se, ath- 
wart the heart of his lover ; as a puisny tllter, 
tliat si)urs his horse but on one side, breaks 
his staff like a noble goose: but all's brave 
that youth mounts and folly guides. V/ho 
comes here? 

Enter Cokin. 

Cor. Mistress and master, you have oft in- 
quired 60 
After the shepherd that complain'd of love, 
Who you .saw sitting by me on the turf, 
I'raising the proud disdainful shepherdess 
That was his mistres. 

C'el. ^ Well, and what of him? 

Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd. 
Between the pale complexion of true love 
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain. 
Go hence a little and I .shall conduct you, 
If you w ill mark it. 

Ros. O, come, let us remove : 

The sight of lovers feedeth tho.se in love. HO 
Bring us to this sight, and you shall say 

I'll prove a busy actor in'their play. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene V. Another pm-t of the forest. 
Enter SiLVius and Phebe. 

,SV/. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn )ne ; do laot, 

Phoebe ; 
Say that you love me not, but say not so 
in bitterness. The common e.xecutioner. 
Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death 

makes hard. 
Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck 
But first begs pardon : will you sterner be 
t'l'lian he that dies and lives by bloody drops ? 

Enter Rosalind, Cklia, and Cokin, behind, 

Phe. I would not be thy executioner : 
I My thee, for 1 would not injure thee. 
Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye : 
'Tis pretty, sure, and very ])robable. 
That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest 

tilings. 
Who shut their coward gates on atomies, 
Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers! 
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart ; 
And if mine eyes can wound, now let tbem 

kill thee : 
Now counterfeit to swoon ; why nowfall down ; 
Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame, 
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderei-s ! 
Now show the wound mine eye hath made in 

thee : 20 

Scratch thee but with a ])in, and there remains 
Some scar of it ; lean but upon a rush. 
The cicatrice and cai>al)le impressnre 
Thy palm some moment keeps ; but now mine 

eyes, 
Which i have darted at thee, hurt thee not, 
Nor, I am sure, liere is uo force in eyes 



682 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



{Act :ii. 



That can do hurt. 

,S'//. O dear Phebe, 

If ever, — as that ever may be near, — 
You meet in some fresh cheek the power of 

fancy, 
Then shairyou know the wounds invisible 30 
That love's keen arrows make. 

Phe. But till that time 

Come not thou near me : and when that time 

comes, 
Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not ; 
As till that time 1 shall not pity thee. 
Rus. And why, I pray you ? Who might 

be your mother. 
That you insult, exult, and all at once. 
Over the wretched ? What though you have 

no beauty, — 
As, by my faith, I see no more in you 
Than without caudle may go dark to bed — 
Must you be therefore proud and pitiless ? 40 
Why, what means this ? Why do you look on 

me? 
I see no more in you than in the ordinary 
Of nature's sale-work. 'Od's my little life, 
I think she means to tangle my eyes too ! 
No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it : 
'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair. 
Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream, 
That can entame my spirits to your worsliij). 
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow 

her, 
Like foggy south puffing with wind and rain ? 
You are a thousand times a properer man 
Than she a woman : 'tis such fools as you 
That makes the world full of ill-favor'd chil- 
dren : 
'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her ; 
And out of you she sees herself more proper 
Thau any of her lineaments can show her. 
But, mistress, know yourself : down on your 

knees, [love : 

And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's 
For I must tell you friendly in your ear. 
Sell when you can : you are not for all markets : 
Cry the man mercy ; love him ; take his offer: 
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. 
So take her to thee, shepherd : fare you well. 
Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year 

together : 
I had rather hear you chide than this man woo. 
Ros. He's fallen in love with your foulness 
and she'll fall in love with my anger. If it be 
so, as fast as she answers thee with frowning 
k)ok-s, I'll sauce her with bitter words. AVHiy 
look you so upon me ? 70 

Phe. For no ill will I bear you. 
Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me, 
For I am falser than vows made in wine : 
Besides, I like you not. If you will know my 

house, 
'Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by. 
Will you go, sister ? Shepherd, ply her hard. 
Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better. 
And be not proud : though all the world could 

see, 
None could be go abused in sight as he. 80 



Come, to our flock, 

[Exeunt Rosalind, Celia and Corin. 
Phe. Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of 
might, 
' Who ever loved that loved not at first sight ? ' 
Sil. Sweet Phebe, — 

Phe. Ha, what say'st thou, Silvius ? 

Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me. 
Phe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Sil- 
vius, 
(S7/. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be ; 
If you do sorrow at my grief in love. 
By giving love your sorrow and my grief 
Were both extermined. 
Phe. Thou hast my love : is not that neigh- 
borly ? 90 
Sil. I would have you. 
Phe. Why, that were covetousness. 
Silvius, the time was that I hated tliee. 
And yet it is not that I bear thee love ; 
But since that thou canst talk of love so well, 
Thy company, whicli erst was irksome to me, 
I will endure, and I'll employ thee too : 
But do not look for further recompense 
Than thine own gladness that thou art eit 
ploy'd. 
Sil. So holy and so perfect is my love, 
And I in such a poverty of grace, IOC' 
That I shall think it a most plenteous crop 
To glean the broken ears after the man 
That the main harvest reaps ; loose now and 

then 
A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon. 
Phe. Know'st now the youth that spoke to 

me erewliile ? 
Sil. Not very well, but I have met him 
oft ; 
And he hath bought the cottage and the 

bounds 
That the old carlot once was master of. 
Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask 
for him ; 
'Tis but a peevish boy ; yet he talks well ; 110 
But what care I for words ? yet words do well 
When he that speaks them pleases those that 

hear. 
It is a pretty youth : not very pretty : 
But, sure, he's proud, and yet his pride be- 
comes him : 
He'll make a proper man : the best thing in 

him 
Is his complexion ; and faster than his tongue 
Did make offence his eye did heal it up. 
He is not very tall ; yet for his years he's* 

tall: 
His leg is but so so ; and yet 'tis well : 
There was a pretty redness in his lip, 1'20 

A little riper and more lusty red 
Than that mix'd in his cheek ; 'twas just the 

difference 
Between the constant red and mingled 

damask. 
There be some women, Silvius, had they 

n)ark'd him 
In parcels as I did, would have gone near 
To fall iu love with him ; but, for my part, 



Scene i.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



683 



I love him not nor hate him not ; and yet 
1 have more cause to hate him than to love 

him : 
For what had he to do to chide at me ? 
He said mine eyes were biack and my hair 
black : 130 

And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me : 
I marvel why I answer'd not again : 
But that's all one ; omittance is no quittance. 
I'll write to him a very taunting letter, 
And thou shalt bear it : wilt thou, Silvias? 

Sil. Phebe, with all my heart. 

Phe. I'll write it straight ; 

The matter 'a in my head and in my heart : 
I will be bitter with him and passing short. 
Go with me, Silvius. lExeunt. 



ACT IV. 



Scene I. The forest. 
Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Jaques. 

Jaq. I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better 
Rcquainted with thee. 

Ros. Tliey say you are a melancholy 
fellow. 

Jaq. I am so ; I do love It better than 
laughing. 

Ros. Those that are in extremity of either 
are abominable fellows and betray themselves 
to every modern censure worse than drunk- 
ards. 

Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say 
nothing. 

Ros. Why then, 'tis good to be a post. 9 

Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melan- 
choly, which is emulation, nor the musician's, 
which is fantastical, nor the courtier's, which 
is proud, nor the soldier's, wlych is ambitious, 
nor the lawyer's, which is politic, nor the 
lady's, which is nice, nor the lover's, which is 
all these : but it is a melancholy of mine own, 
compounded of many simples, extracted from 
many objects, and indeed the sundry's con- 
templation of my travels, in which my often 
rumination wraps me in a mosthumorous sad- 
ness. 20 

Ros. A traveller ! By my faith, you have 
great reason to be sad : I fear you have sold 
Aour own lands to see other men's ; then, to 
have seen much and to have nothing, is to 
have rich eyes and poor hands. 

Jaq. Yes, I liave gained my experience. 

Ros. And your ex])erience makes you sad : 
I had rather have a fool to make me merry 
♦liau experience to make me sad ; and to 
travel for it too ! 

ErUer Orlando. 

Orl. Good day and happiness, dear Rosa/* 
lind ! 

Jaq. Nay, then, God be wi' yon, an you 
talk in blank verse. [Exit 



Ros. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller : look 
you lisp and wear strange suits, disable ail the 
benefits of your own country, be out of love 
with your nativity and almost chide God for 
making you that countenance you are, or I 
will scarce think you have swam in a gondola. 
Why, how now, Orlando ! where have yon 
been all this while ? You a lover ! An you 
serve me such another trick, never come in my 
sight more. 41 

Orl. My fair Rosalind, I come within an 
hour of ray promise. 

Ros. Break an hour's promise in love ! He 
that will divide a minute into a thousand parts 
a^id break but a part of the thousandth jiart of 
a minute in the affairs of love, it may he said 
of him that Cui^id hath clapped him o' the 
shoulder, but I'll warrant him heart-whole. 

Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. 50 

Ros, Nay, an you be so tardy, come no 
more in my sight : I had as lief be wooed of a 
snail. 

Orl. Of a snail ? 

Ros. Ay, of a snail ; for though he come» 
slowly, he carries his house on his head ; a 
better jointure, I think, than you make a wo- 
man : besides he brings his destiny with him. 

Orl. What's that ? 

Ros. Why, horns, which such as you are 
fain to be beholding to your wives for : but he 
comes armed in his fortune and prevents the 
slander of his wife. 

Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker ; and my Rosa- 
lind is virtuous. 

Ros. And I am your Rosalind. 

Cel. It pleases Him to call you so ; but he 
hath a Rosalind of a better leer than you. 

Ros. Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am 
in a holiday humor and like enough to consent. 
What would you say to m© now, an I were 
your very very Rosalind ? 7^ 

Orl. I would kiss before I spoke. 

Ros. Nay, you Avere better speak first, and 
when you were gravelled for lack of matter, 
you might take occasion to kiss. Very good 
orators, when they are out, they will spit , and 
for lovers lacking — God warn us I — matter, the 
cleanliest shift is to kiss. 

Orl. How if the kiss be denied ? 

Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and 
there begins new matter. 81 

Orl. Who could be out, being before his be- 
loved mistress ? 

Ros. Marry, that should you. If I were your 
mistress, or I should think my honesty ranker 
than my wit. 

Orl. ' What, of my suit ? 

Ros. Not out of your apparel, and vet out 
of your suit. Am riot I your Rosalind ? 

Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because 
I would be talking of her. 91 

Ros. Well in her person I say I will not have 
you. 

Orl. Tlien in mine own person I die. 

Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. The jxior 
world is almost six thousand years old, and in 



584 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



[Act IV. 



all this time there was not any man died in his 
own person, videlicit, in ;i love-canse. Troilus 
had his brains daslied out with a Grecian club; 
jet he did what he could to die before, and he 
is one of the i)atterns of love. Leander, he 
would have lived many a fair year, thougli 
Hero had turned nun, if it had not been for a 
hot inidsuninier night ; for, good youth, he 
went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont 
and being taken with the cramp was drowned : 
and the foolish coroners of that age found it 
was ' Hero of Sestos.' But these are all lies : 
men have died from time to time and worms 
have eaten them, but not for love. 

Off. I would not have my right Rosalind of 
this mind, for, I protest, her frown might kill 
me. 

7ios. By this hand, it will not kill a fly. 
But couie, now 1 will be your Rosalind in a 
more coming-on disposition, and ask me what 
yon will. I will grant it. 

Orl. Then love me, Rosalind. 

Ens. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Satur- 
days and all. 

brl. And wilt thon have me ? 

Ros. Ay, and twenty such. 

Orl. What sayest thou ? 120 

Eos. Are you not good ? 

Orl. I hope so. 

Eos. Why then, can one desire too much of 
a good thing ? Come, sister, you shall be the 
priest and marry us. Give me your hand, 
Orlando. What do you say, sister ? 

Orl. Pray thee, marry us. 

Cel. I cannot say the words. 

Eos. You must begin, ' Will you, Orlando — * 

Cd. Go to. Will you, Orlando, have to wife 
this Rosalind ? 131 

Orl. I will. 

Eos. Ay, but when ? [us. 

Orl. Why now ; as fast as she can marry 

Eos. Then you must say ' I take thee, Rosa- 
lind, for wife.' 

Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. 

Eos. I might ask you for your commission ; 
but I do take thee, Orlando, for my husbaiid : 
there's a girl goes before tlie priest ; and cer- 
tainly a woman's thought runs before ^ler ac- 
tions. 141 

Orl. So do all thoughts ; they are winged. 

Eos. Now tell me how long you would have 
her after you have possessed her. 

Orl. For ever and a daj'. 

Eos. Say ' a day,' without the 'ever.' No, 
no, Orlando ; men are April when they woo, 
December when tliey wed : maids are May 
when they are maids, but the sky changes 
when they are wives. I will be more jealous 
if thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his 
lien, more clamorous than a parrot against 
rain, more new-fangled than an ape, more 
giddy in my desires than a monkey : I will 
weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, 
and I will do that when you are disposed to be 
merry ; I will laugh like a hyeu, and that when 
thou art inclined to sleep. 



Orl. But will my Rosalind do so ? 

Eos. By my life, she will do as 1 do. 

Orl. O, but she is wise. IGO 

Eos. Or else she could not have tlie wit to 
do this : the wiser, the way warder : make the 
doors upon a woman's wit and it will out at 
the casement ; shut that and 'twill out at the 
key-hole ; stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke 
out at the chimney. 

Orl. A man that had a wife with such a 
wit, he might sa.y ' Wit, whither wilt? ' 

Eos. Nay, you might keep that check for it 
till you met your wife's wit going to your 
neighbor's bed. 171 

Orl. And what wit could wit have to «xcuse 
that ? 

Eos. Marry, to say she came to seek yon 
there. You shall never take her without her 
answer, unless you take her without her 
tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her 
fault her husband's occasion, let her never 
nurse her child herself, for she will breed it 
like a fool ! 

Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will 
leave thee. 181 

Eos. Alas ! dear love, I cannot lack thee 
two hours. 

Orl. I must attend the duke at dinner : by 
two o'clock I will be with thee again. 

Eos. Ay, go your ways, go your ways : I 
knew what you would prove : niy friends told 
me as much, and I thought no less ; tliut 
flattering tongue of yours won me : 'tis but 
one cast away, and so, come, death ! Two 
o'clock is your liour ? l!/0 

Orl. Ay, sweet Ro.salind. 

Eos. By my troth, and in good earnest, tiivtl 
so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths thiit 
are not dangerous, if you break one jot of you t 
promise or come one minute behind your houi', 
I will think you the most pathetical break-pro- 
mise and the most hollow lover and the most 
unworthy of her you call Rosalind that muy 
be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaith- 
ful : therefore beware my censure and kee|» 
your promise. i'OO 

Orl. With no less religion than if thou wurt 
indeed my Rosalind : so adieu. 

Eos. Well, Time is the old justice that <'.x- 
amines all such offenders, and let Time try : 
adieu. [Exit Orlawlo. 

Cel. Yon have simply misused our sex in 
your love-prate : we must have your doublet 
and hose i)lucked over your head, and show 
the world what the bird hath done to her c wn 
nest. 

Eos. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little <;oz, 
that thou didst know how many fathom deep 
I am in love ! But it cannot be sounded : my 
affection hath an unknown bottom, like the 
bay of Portugal. 

Cel. Or rather, bottomless, that as fast as 
you pour affection in, it runs out. 

Eos. No, that same wicked bastard of Ve- 
nus that was begot of thought, conceived of 
gpleen and born of madness, that blind ras- 



SCENK IIT.j 



AS YOU LIKE TT 



585 



.^ally T)oy that abusps every one's eyes be- 
fiuise his own are out, let him be judge how 
Jeep I am in love. I'll tell thee, Aliena, I can- 
aot 1)6 out of the sightof Orlando : I'll go find 
a shadow and sigh till he come. 

CW. And I'll sleep. [Exetmt. 

Scene II. The forest. 

Enter JAciUES, Lords, and Foresters. 

Jaq. Which is he that killed the deer ? 

A Lord, Sir, it was I. 

J<i(i. Let's presseut him to the duke, like a 
Uomiui conqueror ; and it would do well to 
stt tlio deer's horns upon his head, for a 
hraneli of victory. Have you no song, for- 
ester, for this purpose ? 

/''('(•. Yes, sir. 

Jaq. Sing it : 'tis no matter how it be in 
tune, so it make noise enough. 10 

Song, 
For What shall he have that kill'd the 
deer ? 
Ills leather skin and horns to wear. 
Then sing him home ; 
[T7ie re.H shultbear thi.'i burden. 
Take thou no scorn to wear the horn ; 
It was a crest ere thou wast born : 

Thy father's father wore it, 
And thy father bore it : 
The liorn, the horii, the lusty horn 
Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. 

[Exeunt, 

Scene III. The forest. 
Enter Rosalind and Celia. 

Has. How say you now ? Is it not past 
two o'clock ? and here much Orlando ! 

Crl. 1 warrant you, with pure love and 
troiiiiled brain, he hath ta'en his bow and ar- 
rows and is gone forth to sleep. Ix)ok, who 
Comes here. 

Enter Silvius. 

,s'/7. My errand is to yon, fair youth ; 
My gentle" Pliebe bid nie give you this : 
I know not the contents ; but, as I guess 
By the stern brow and waspish action 
Wliich she did use as she was writing of it, 10 
It l)ears an angry tenor : pardon me : 
i am but as a guiltless messenger. 

lios. Patience herself would startle at this 
letter 
And play the swaggerer ; bear this, bear all : 
She siiys I am notfair, that I lack manners ; 
She calls me proud, and that she could not 

love me, 
\\'(M'e man as rare as phcenix. 'Od's my will ' 
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt : 
Why writes she so to me ? Well, shepherd, 

well, 
Tliis is a letter of you own device. 20 

Sil. No, 1 protest, I know not the contents: 
Phebe did write it. 

Ros, Come, come, you are a fool 



.Vnd tum'd into the extremity of love, 
1 saw her hand : she has a leathern hand, 
A freestoue-color'd hand ; 1 verily did think 
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her 

hands : 
She has a huswife's hand ; but that's no mat- 
ter ; 
I say she never did invent this letter ; 
This is a man's invention and his hand. 
,S'/7. Sure, it is hers. "0 

Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel 
style, 
A style for challengers ; why, she defies me. 
Like Turk to Christian : women's gentle 

brain 
Could not drop forth such giant-rude inven- 
tion, 
Such Ethiope words, blacker in their effect 
Than in their countenance. Will you heai the 
letter ? 
SiL So please you, for I never heard it yet ; 
Yet heard too much of I'hebe's cruelty. 
Jios. She Phebes nie : nuirk how the ts rant 
writes. [Htudx. 

Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, 40 
That a maiden's heart hath burn'd ? 
Can a woman rail thus ? 
Sil. Call you this railing ? 
Ros. [Reads'] 

Why, thy godhead laid apart, 
Warr'st thou with a woman's heart? 
Did you ever hear such railing ? 

Whiles the eye of man did woo me, 
That could do no vengeance to me* 
Meaning me a beast. 

If the scorn of your bright eyne 50 

Have power to raise such love in mine. 
Alack, in me what strange effect 
Would they work in mild aspect I 
Whiles you chid me. 1 did love ; 
How then might your prayers move \ 
He that brings this love to thee 
Little knows this love in me : 
And by him seal nj) thy mind ; 
Whether that thy youth aiul kind 
Will the faithful offer take 60 

Of me and all that I can make ; 
Or else by him my love deny, 
And then I'll study how to die. 
Hil. Call you this chiding ? 
CW. Alas, poor shepherd ! 
Ros. Do you pity him ? no, he deserves no 
pity. Wilt thou love such a woman ? What, 
to make thee an instrument and i)lay false 
strains upon thee ! not to be endured ! Well, 
go your way to her, for I see love hath made 
thee a tame snake, and say this to her : that 
if she love me, I charge her to love thee ; if 
she will not, I will never have her unless thou 
entreat for her. If you be a true lover, hence, 
and not a word ; for here comes more com- 
pany. [Exit l<Uvhis. 

Enter Oliver. 
OU. Good morrow, fair ones : pray you, if 
you know, 



53d 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



lAcT IV, 



Where in tlie purlieus of this forest stsiuds 
A sheep-cote feuced about witli olive trees ? 
Ccl. West of tills place, down in the neigh- 
bor bottom : 
The rank of osiers by the murmmiug stream 
Left on your right haud brings you to the 
place. 81 

But at this hour the house doth keep itself ; 
There's none within. 

01 i. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, 
Then should I know you by description ; 
Such garments and such years : ' The boy is 

fair, 
Of female favor, and bestows himself 
jLike a ripe sister : the woman low 
And browner than her brother.' Are not you 
The owner of the house I did inquire for ? 90 
Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we 

are. 
Oli. Orlando doth commend liim to you 
both, 
And to that youth he calls his Rosalind 
He sends this bloody napkin. Are jou he ? 
Ro><. I am : what must we understand by 

til is ? 
Oli. Some of my shame ; if you will know 
of me 
What man 1 am, and how, and why, and 

where 
This handkercher was stain'd. 

Cel. I pray you, tell it. 

Oli. When last the young Orlando parted 
from you 
He left a promise to return again 100 

Within an hour, and pacing through the for- 
est. 
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, 
Lo. what befel ! he threw his eye aside. 
And mark what object did present itself : 
Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd 

witti age 
And higli top bald with dry antiquity, 
A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair, 
Lay sleeping on his back : about his neck 
A green and gilded snake had wreathed it- 
self, 
Who with her head nimble in threats ap- 
proach'd 110 

The opening of his mouth ; bui suddenly, 
Seeing Orlando, it uulink'd itself. 
And with indented glides did slip away 
Into a bush : under which bush's shade 
A lioness, with udders all drawn dry. 
Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike 

watch, 
AVlien that the sleeping man should stir ; for 

'tis 
The royal disposition of that beast 
To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead : 
This seen, Orlando did approach the man 120 
And found it was his brother, his elder 
brother. 
Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that 
same brother : 
And he did render him the most unnatural 
That lived amongst men. 



Oli, And well he might so do, 

For well I know he was unnatural. 
Hos. But, to Orlando : did he leave bim 
there, 
Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness ? 
Oli. Twice did he turn his back and pur^ 
posed so ; 
But kindness, nobler ever than revenge. 
And nature, stronger than his just occasion. 
Made him give battle to the lioness, 131 

Who quickly fell before him : in which hurt- 
ling 
From miserable slumber I awaked. 
Cel. Are you his brother ? 
Ros. Was't you he rescued ? 

Cel. Was't you that did so oft contrive to 

kill him ? 
Oli. 'Twas I ; but 'tis not I : Ido not shame 
To tell you what I was, since my conversion 
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. 
Ros. But, for the bloody napkin ? 
on. By and by. 

When from the first to last betwixt us two 140 
Tears our recountments had most kindly 

bathed, 
As how I came into that desert place : — 
In brief, he led me to the gentle duke, 
Who gave me fresh array and entertainment, 
Committing me unto my brother's love ; 
Who led me instantly unto his cave, 
There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm 
The lioness had torn some flesh away, 
AMiich all this while had bled ; and now he 

fainted 
And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind. 150 
Brief, I recover' d him, bound up his wound ; 
And, after some small space, being strong at 

heart. 
He sent me hither, stranger as I am. 
To tell this story, that you might excuse 
His broken promise, and to give this napkin 
Dyed in his blood unto the shepherd youth 
Tliat he in sport doth call his Rosalind. 

[Rosalind sicoons. 
Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede ! sweet 

Ganymede ! 
Oli. Many will swoon when they do look 

on blood. 
Cel. There is more in it. Cousin Gahv- 
mede ! 160 

Oli. Look, he recovers. 
Ros. I would I were at home. 
Cel. We'll lead vou thither. 

1 pray you, will you take him by the arm ? 

Oli. Be of good cheer, youth : you a man ! 
you lack a man's heart. 

Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body 
would think this was well counterfeited ! 1 
prav vou, tell vour brother how well I coun- 
terfeited. Heigh-ho ! 169 
Oli. Tills was not counterfeit : there is too 
great testimony in your complexion that it was 
a passion of earnest 
Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you. 
Oli. Well then, take a good heart and 
counterfeit to be a mau. 



SCENB II.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



587 



Ros, So I do : but, i' faitli, T slioiild have 
been a woman bj' riiilit. 

Ctl. Come, you look imler and paler : pray 
you, draw homewards. Good sir, go with us. 

OU. Tliat will I, for 1 must bear answer 
back 180 

How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. 

Hox. 1 shall devise something? : but, I pray 
vou, commend my counterfeiting to him. 
Will you go ? [Exeunt. 



ACT V. 

Scene I. Tlte forest 

Enter Touchstone and Audeev. 

Touch. We shall find a time, Audrey ; jwi- 
tience, gentle Audrey. 

Auil. Faith, the priest was good enough, 
for all the old gentleman's saying. 

Totirh. A most wicked Sir'Oliver, Audrey, 
a most vile Martext. But, Audrey, there is a 
youtii here in tlie forest lays claim to you. 

And. Ay, 1 know who 'tis ; he hath no in- 
terest in n'le in the world : here comes the 
man you mean. 10 

Tuiirh. It is meat and drink to me to see a 
clown : by my troth, we that have good wits 
liave nmch to answer for ; we shall be flout- 
ing ; we cannot hold. 

Enter WilliaM. 

Will. Good even, Audrey. 

And. God ye good even, William. 

Will. And good even to you, sir. 

Touch. Good even, gentle friend. Cover 
thy head, cover thy head : nay, prithee, l.e 
covered. How old are you, friend ? 20 

Will. Five and twenty, sir. 

Touch. A ripe age. Is thv name William ? 

Wdl. William, sir. 

Touch. A fair name. Wast born i' the for- 
est here ? 

Wdl. Ay, sir, I thank Grnl. 

Touch. ' Thank God ;' a good answer. Art 
rich ? 

Will. Faith, sir, so so. 

Touch. ' So so ' is good, very good, very 
excellent good ; and yet it is not ; it is but so 
so. .\rt th(iu wise ? 31 

Will. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. 

Touch. Wliy, thou sayest well. I do now 
rememljer a .saying, ' The fool doth think he is 
wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a 
foof.' The heathen philosopher, when he had a 
desire to eat agrape, would open his lips when 
Jje put it into his mouth ; meaning thereby 
that grai)es were made to eat and lips to open. 
You do love this maid ? 40 

\ViU.. I do, sir. 

Touch. Give me your hand. Art thou 
learned ? 

WiU. No, sir. 



Touch. Then learn this of me : to have, is 
to have ; for it is a figure in rhetoric tli.it drink, 
being ix)ured out of a cup into a glass, by fill- 
ing the one doth empty the other ; for aU your 
writers do consent that ipse in he : riow, you 
are not ipse, for I am he. 

M7//. Which he, sir? 50 

Touch. He, sir, that must nuirry this 
woman. Therefore, you clown, abandon,— 
which is in the vulgar leave,— the soc-iety, — 
which in the boorish is company, — of tliis 
female,— which in the common is woman ; 
which together is, abandon the society of thi.s 
female, or, clown, thou perishest ; or, to thy 
better understanding, dicst ; or, to wit, 1 kill 
thee, make thee away, translate thy life into 
death, thy liberty into bondage ; 1 will deal iu 
poison with thee, or in bastinado, or in steel ; 
I will bandy with thee in faction ; I will o'er- 
run thee with policy ; I will kill thee a hundred 
and fifty ways : therefore tremble, and depart. 

And. Do, good William. 

117//. God re.st you merry, sir. [Exit. 

Enter Corin. 

Cor. Our master and mistress seeks you ; 
come, away, away ! 

Touch. Trip, Audrey ! trip, Audrey ! I at- 
tend, 1 attend [Exeunt. 

Scene II Tlie forest. 
Enter Orlando and Oliver. 

Orl. Is't possible that on so little acquamt- 
ance you should like her ? that but seeing you 
should love her ? and loving woo ? and, wooing, 
she should grant ? and will you persever Ut 
enjoy her ? 

Oil. Neither call the giddiness of it in ques- 
tion, thejxjverty of her, tlie small acquaintance, 
my sudden wooing, nor her sudden consenting; 
biit say with me, 1 love Aliena ; say with her 
that she loves me ; consent with both that we 
may enjoy each other : it shall be to your 
good ; for my father's house and all the reve- 
nue that was old Sir Rowland's will I estate 
\\\)o\\ you, and here live and die a shepherd. 

(JrL You have my consent. Let your wed- 
ding be to-morrow : thither will 1 invite the 
duke and all's contented followers, (io you 
and jirepare Aliena ; for look you, here comes 
my Rosalind. 

Enter Ros.\lind. 

Ros. God save you, brother. 20 

OU. And j'ou, fair sister. [Exit. 

Ros. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves 
me to see thee wear thy heart in a scarf ! 

Oil. It is my arm. 

Ros. I thought thy heart had been wounded 
with the claws of a lion. 

Orl. Wounded it is, but with the eves of a 
ladv. 

iios. Did your brother tell vou how I coun- 
terfeited to swoon when he snowed me your 
haudkercher ? 30 



688 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



[Act y. 



Orl. Ay, and greater wonders than that. 

Has. O, I know where you are : nay, 'tis 
true : there was never anj^ thing so sudden 
but tiie fight of two rams and Csesar's thra- 
sonical brag of ' I came, saw, and overcame : ' 
for your brother and luy sister no sooner met 
but they loolced, no sooner looked but they 
loved, no sooner loved but they sighed, no 
sooner sighed but they asked one another the 
reason, no sooner knew the reason but they 
sought the remedy; and in these degrees have 
they made a pair of stairs to marriage which 
they will climb incontinent, or else be incon- 
tinent before marriage : they are hi the very 
wrath of love and they will together ; clubs 
cannot part them. 

Od. They shall be married to-morrow, and 
I will bid tlie duke to the nuptial. But, O, 
liow bitter a thing it is to look into happiness 
through another man's eyes ! By so much the 
more shall I to-morrow be at the height of 
heart-heaviness, by how much I shall think 
my brother happy in having what he wishes 
for. 

R)s. Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve 
y,)ur turn for Ro.salind ? 

Orl. I can live no longer by thinking. 

R^t. I will weary you then no longer with 
idle talking. Know of me then, for now I 
speak to some purpose, that I know you are a 
gentleman of good conceit : I speak not this 
that you sliould bear a good opinion of my 
kiiowiedge, insomuch I say I know you are ; 
noitlier do I labor for a greater esteem than 
m ly in some little measure draw a belief from 
voii, to do yourself good and not to grace me. 
Believe then, if you please, that I can do 
strange things : I have, shice I was three year 
old, couversed with a magician, most profound 
jn his art aud yet not danuiable. If you do 
love Kosalind so near the heart as your gesture 
cries it out, when your brother marries Aliena, 
shall you marry her : I know into what straits 
of fortune she is driven ; and it is not impossi- 
ble to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, 
to set lier before your eyes to-morrow human 
as she is and without any danger. 

Oii. Speakest thou in sober meanings ? 

Ros. By my life, I do ; which I tender dear- 
ly, tliough I say I am a magician. Therefore, 
nut you in your best array ; bid your friends ; 
f )r if you will be married to-morrow, you shall, 
and to Kosalind, if you will. 81 

Enter Silvius and Phebk. 

Look, here comes a lover of mine and a lover 
of hers. 
Phe. Youth, you have done me much un- 
gentleness. 
To show the letter that I writ to you. 

Ros. I care not if I have : it is my study 
To seem despiteful and ungentle to you : 
You are there followed by a faithfu' shepherd; 
Look upon him, love him ; he worships you. 
Phe. Good shepherd, tell this youtli what 
'tis to love. 



Sil. It is to be all made of sighs and tears j 
And so am I for Phebe. 9<. 

Phe. And I for Ganymede. 

0/7. And I for Rosalind. 

i?o,s. And I for no woman. 

Sil. It is to be all made of faith and service, 
And so am I for Phebe. 

Phe. And I for Ganymede. 

Orl. And I for Rosalind. 

i?o.s. And I for no woman. 

Sil. It is to be all made of fantasy, lOG 

All made of passion and all made of'wishes, 
All adoration, duty, and observance. 
All humbleness, all patience and impatience, 
t All purity, all trial, all observance ; 
And so am I for Phebe. 

Phe. And so am I for Ganymede. 

Orl. And so am I for Rosalind. 

Ros. And so am I for no woman. 

Phe. If this be so, why blame you me to 
love you? 110 

Sil. If this be so, why blame yon me to 
love you ? 

Orl. If this be so, why blame you me to 
love you ? 

Ron. Who do you speak to, ' Why blame 
you me to love you ? ' [hear. 

Orl. To her that is not here, nor doth not 

Ros. Pray you, no more of this ; 'tis like 
the howling of Irish wolves against the moon. 
[To Sil.^ I will help you, if I can : [To Phe] 
I would love you, if I could. To-morrow meet 
me all together. [To Phe] I will marry you, 
if ever I marry woman, and I'll be married to- 
morrow : [To Orl.] I will satisfy you, if ever 
I satisfied man, and you shall be married to- 
morrow : [To Sil.] I will content you, if 
wliat pleases you contents you, and you .'^liall 
be married to-morrow. [To Orl.] As you lo\e 
Rosalind, meet : [To Sil.] as you love Phehe, 
meet : and as I love no woman, I'll meet. So 
fare you well : I have left you commands. I'M 

Stl. I'll not fail, if I live. 

Phe. Nor 1. 

Orl. Nor I. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. The forest. 
Enter Tf)ucHS'i;oNE and Audrey. 

Touch. To-morrow is the joyful day, 
Audrey ; to-morrow will we V)e married. 

Aud. 1 do desire it with all my heart ; and 
I hope it is no dislionest desire to desire to be 
a woman of the world. Here comes two of 
the banished duke's pages. 

Enter two Pages. 

First Page. Well met, honest gentleman. 

Toxich. By my troth, well met. Come it, 
sit, and a song. 9 

Sec. Page, We are for you : sit i' the mid- 
dle. 

First Page. Shall we clap into't roundly, 
without hawking or spitting or saying we are 
hoarse, which are the only prologues to a bad 
voice ? 



Scene iv.] 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



689 



Sec. Par/e. rfa,ith, i'faith ; and both in a 
tune, like two gipsies on a horse. 

Son* J. 

It was a lover and his lass, 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
That o'er the green coiii-field did pass 

In the springtime, the only i)retty ring time, 
When hirds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding : 21 
Sweet lovers love the spring. 

between the acres of the rye. 

With a hey, and a lio, and a hey nonino, 
These i)retty country folks would lie, 

In sjiring time, &c. 

This carol they began tliat liour. 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 

Ilnw tliat a iife was l)ut a flower 

In spring time, &c. oO 

.\iid therefore take the present time, 
With a liey, and a lui, and a hey nonino ; 

For love is crowned with the prime 
In spring time, &c. 

Touch. Truly, young gentlemen, thougli 
tiu-re was no grentniatter in the ditty, yet the 
note was vcr\ uutuneable. 

/•V/'.s< 7'",'/' . Vdu are deceived, sir : we kept 
lime, we lost not our time. 

Toiif/i. By my troth, yes ; I count it hut 
time lost to hear siu'h a foolish song, (iod be 
wi' you ; and God mend your voices ! Come, 
.\udrey. [Exetiid. 

ScKNK IV. The forest. 

Enter Dlkk senior, Amiens, JA<iUES, Ou- 
LANOo, Oliver, and Cklia. 

Duke S. Post thou believe, Orlando, that 
the boy 
Can do all this tliat he luitli promised ? 

Orl. I .sometimes do believe, and .sometimes 
do not ; 
^ As those that fear they liope, .■uid know they 
fear. 

Enter Rosalind, Silvius, and Thkhk. 

lios. Patience once more, whiles our com- 
pact is urged : 
Vou say, if I bring in your Rosalind, 
Voit will bestf)w jicr on Orlando here ? 

/)ii/>'c S. Tliat would I, had I kingdoms to 
give witli her. 

Ros. And vou say, you will have her, when 
I bring her ? ' 

Orl, That would I, were I of all kingdoms 
king. 10 

Ros. You say, y.ou'll marry nie, if I be will- 
ing? 

Pke. That will I, slioidd 1 die the liour 
after. 

/?o.s. But if you do refuse to marry me, 
Tou'll give yourself to this most faithful 
8he])hprd ? 

rhv. So is the bargain. 



Ros. You say, that you'll have rhebc. If 

she will ? 
Sil. Though to have her and death were 

both one thing, 
/?o.s. I have promised to make all this 
matter even. 
Keep you your word, O duke, to give your 
daughter ; I'J 

Yon yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter : 
Keep your word, Phcbe, thatyou'll marry me. 
Or else refusing me, to wed this shepherd : 
Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry 

her. 
If .she refuse me : and from hence I go, 
To make these doubts all even. 

[Exeunt Rosalind and Cclin. 
Duke S. I do remember iu this shepherd 
boy 
Some lively touclies of my daughter's favor. 
Orl. My lord, the first time that I ever saw 
him 
IMethought he was a brother to your daughter: 
Hut, my good lord, this boy is forest-born, iiO 
And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments 
Of many desperate studies by his uncle. 
Whom he rejiorts to be a great magician. 
Obscured in the circle of this forest. 

Enter Touchstone and Auduey. 

Jacj There is, sure, another flood toward, 
and these couples are coming to the ark. Here 
comes a pair of very stiange beasts, which in 
all tongues are called fools. ' 

Touch. Salutation and greeting to you all ! 

r/ar/. Good my lord, l)id him welcitnu^ ; this 
is the motley-minded gentleman that I ii;ive 
so (jftcn met in the forest : he hath been a 
coui-tier, he swears. 

Touch. If any man doubt that, lot hiui put 
me to my purgation. I have tiod a mcasiiic ; 
I have flattered a lady ; 1 have been politic, 
with my friend, snuioth with mine enemy ; I 
have undone three tailors ; I liave had four 
(ju.'irrels, and like to have fought one. 

Jaq. And how w;is that ta'en uji? .''lO 

Touch. Faith, we met, and found the 
quarrel was upon the seventh cause 

Jiti/. IIow seventh cause ? Good my lord, 
like tiiis fellow. 

Duke S. I like him very well. 

Touch. God 'ild yon, sir ; I desire you of 
the like. I press in liere, sir, amongst tlie rest 
of the country copulatives, to swcir and to 
forswear : according as marriage binds and 
blood breaks : a jKior virgin, sir, an ill-favored 
thing, sir, but mine own ; a poor humor of 
mine, sir, to take that that no man else will : 
rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a jwor 
house ; as your pearl in your foul oyster. 

/)uke S. By my faith, he is very swift and 
sententious. 

Touch. Ac(;ording to the fool's bolt, sir, and 
sui'h dulcet diseases. 

J<in. But, for the seventh cause ; how did 
yon nnd the quarrel on the seventh cause ? 70 

Touch. Upon a lie eeveu timee removed ; — 



590 



AS YOU LIKE IT. 



[Act t. 



bear j our body more seeming, Audrey : — as 
thus, sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain 
courtier's beard : he se-.it lue word, if I said 
Ins beard was not cut well, he was in the mind 
it was : this is called the Retort Courteous. If 
I sent him word again ' it was not well cut,' 
lie would send me word, he cut it to please 
liimself : this is called the Quip Modest. If 
again ' it was not well cut,' lie disabled my 
judgment : this is called the Reply Churlish. 
If again ' it was not well cut,' he would answer, 
I spake not true : this is called the Reproof 
Valiant. If again ' it was not well cut,' lie 
would say, I lied : this is called the Counter- 
check Quarrelsome . and so to the Lie Circum- 
stantial and the Lie Direct. 

Jaq. And how oft did you say his beard 
was not well cut ? 

Touch I durst go no further than the Lie 
Circumstantial, nor he durst not give me the 
Lie Direct ; and so we measured swords and 
parted. 

Jaq. Can you nominate in order now the 
degrees of the lie ? 

Touch. O sir, we quarrel in print, by the 
book ; as you have books for good manners : 
I will name you the degrees. The first, the 
Retort Courteous ; the second, the Quip 
Modest ; the tliird, the Reply Churlish ; the 
fourtli, the Reproof Valiant ; the fifth, the 
Countercheck Quarrelsome ; the sixth, the Lie 
with Circumstance ; the seventh, the Lie 
Direct. All these you may avoid but the 
Lie Direct ; and you may avoid that too, with 
an If. I knew when seven justices could not 
take up a quarrel, but when the parties were 
met themselves, one of them thought but of 
an If, as, ' If you said so, then I said so ; ' and 
they shook hands and swore brothers. Your 
If is the only peace-maker ; much virtue in If. 

Jaq, Is not this a rare fellow, my lord ? he's 
as good at any thing and yet a fool. 110 

Duke S. He uses his folly like a stalking- 
horse and under the presentation of that he 
shoots his wit. 

E7ite7' Htmen, Rosalind, and Celia. 

Still Music. 

Hym. Then is there mirth in heaven. 
When earthly tilings made even 

Atone together. 
Good duke, receive thy daughter : 
Hymen from heaven brought her, 

Yea, brought her hitber. 
That thou mightst join her hand with 

his 
Whose heart within liis bosom is. 121 
Ros. [ To d(/A-e] To you I give myself, for I 

am yours. 
[To Orl.^ To you I give myself, for I am 

yours. 
Duke S. If there be truth in sight, you are 

my daughter. 
Orl. If there be truth in sig^t, you are my 
Rosalind. 



Phe. If sight and shape be true, 
Why then, my love adieu ! 

Ros. I'll have no father, if you be not he : 
I'll have no husband, if you be not he : 
Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she. 130 
Hym. Peace, ho ! I bar confusion : 
'Tis I must make conclusion 

Of these most strange events : 
Here's eight that must take hands 
To join in Hymen's bands, 

If truth holds true contents. 
You and you no cross shall part : 
You and you are heart in heart : 
You to his love must accord. 
Or have a woman to your lord : 140 
You and you are sure together, 
As the winter to foul weather. 
Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing, 
Feed yourselves with questioning ; 
That reason wonder may diminish, 
How thus we met, and these things finish. 

Song. 
Wedding is great Juno's crown : 

O blessed bond of board and bed ! 
'Tis Hymen peoples every town ; 

High wedlock then be "honored : 150 
Honor, high honor and renown. 
To Hymen, god of every town ! 

Duke S. my dear niece, welcome thou 
art to me ! 
Even daughter, welcome, in no less degree. 
Phe. I will not eat my word, now thou art 
mine ; 
Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. 

Enter .Jaques db Boys. 

Jaq. de B. Let me have audience for a 
word or two : 
I ain the second son of old Sir Rowland, 
Tliat bring these tidings to this fair assembly 
Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day 
Men of great worth resorted to this forest, 
Address'd a mighty power ; which were on 

foot. 
In his own conduct, purposely to take 
His brother here and put him to the sword : 
And to the skirts of this wild wood lie came ; 
Where meeting with an old religious man, 
After some question with him, was converted 
Both from his enterprise and from the world. 
His crown bequeathing to his bani.sb'd brother. 
And all their lands restored to them again 170 
That were with him exiled. This to be true, 
I do engage my life. 

Duke S. Welcome, young man ; 

Thou offer' st fairly to thy brothers' wedding ; 
To one his lands withheld, and to the other 
A laud itself at large, a potent dukedom. 
First, in this forest let us do those ends 
That here were well begun and well begot: 
And after, every of this happy number 
That have endured shrewd days and niglita 

with us 
Shall share the good o£ our returned fortune. 



Scene iv.] 



AS YOV LIKE IT. 



691 



According to the measure of their states. 181 

Meantime, forget this uew-fall'ii dignity 

And fall into our rustic revelrj'. 

Play, music ! And you, brides and bride- 
grooms all, 

With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures 
fall. 
Jctq. Sir, by your patience. If I heard you 
rightly, 

Tlie duke hath put on a religious life 

And thrown into neglect the pompous court ? 
Jaq. de B- He hath. 

,Tuq. To him will I : out of these conver- 
tites 190 

There is much matter to be heard and learn'd. 

{^To duke] You to your former honor 1 be- 
queath ; 

Your patience and j'our virtue well deserves 
it : 

{ToOrL] You to a love that your true faith 
doth merit : 

[To on.] You to your laud and love and 
great allies : 

[To Sil.] You to a long and well-deserved 
bed: 

[ To Touch.] And you to wrangling ; for thy 
loving voyage 

Is but for two months victuall'd. So, to your 
pleasures : 

I am for other than for dancing measures. 
Duke S. Stay, Jaques, stay. 200 

Jaq. To see uo pastime 1 : what you would 
have 



I'll stay to know at your abandon' d cave. [Exit. 
Duke S. Proceed, proceed : we will begin 
these rites. 
As we do trust they'll end, in true delights, 

[A dance. 

Epilogcte. 

Ros. It Is not the fashion to see the lady 
the epilogue ; but it is no more unhandsome 
than to seethe lord the ]irologue. If it be true 
that good wine needs uo bush, 'tis true that a 
good play needs no epilogue ; yet to good wine 
they do use good bushes, and good plays prove 
the better by the help of good epilogues. What 
a case am I in then, that am neither a good 
epilogue ]\or cannot insuuiate with you in the 
behalf of a good play ! I am not furnished 
like a beggar, therefore to beg will not become 
me : my way is to conjure you ; and I'll begin 
with the women. I charge you, O women, for 
tlie love you bear to men, to like as much of 
this play as please you : and I charge you, O 
men, for the love you bear to women — as I 
perceive by your simpering, none of you hates 
them — that between you and the women the 
play may please. If I were a woman I would 
kiss as many of you as had beards that 
pleased me, complexions that liked me and 
breaths that I defied not : and, I am sure, a*^ 
many as have good beards or good faces or 
sweet breaths will, for my kind offer, when I 
maJke curtey, bid me farewell. [Exeunt. 



TWELFTH NIGHT, 



(written about 1600-1601.) 



INTRODUCTION. 

We learn from Manningham's Diary that Twelfth Night was acted at the Middle Temple, Febru< 
ary 2, 1601-1602. Its date is probably 1600-1601. Manniugham writes of the play : " Much like The 
Comedy of Errors or Menechmi in Plautus, but most like and iieere to that in Italian called /nt/an- 
m." Thereare two Italian plays of an earlier date than Twelfth Night, entitled Gl' J nyntini (The 
Cheats), containing incidents in some degree resembling those of Shakespeare's comedy, and in that 
by Gonzaga, the sister who assumes male attire, jiroducing thereby confusion of identity with her 
brother, is named Cesare (Shakespeare's Cesario). But a third Italian play, Gr Ingammti. presents 
a still closer resemblance to Twelfth Night, and in its poetical induction, // Sacrifick), occurs the 
name Malevolti (Malvolio). The story i's told in Bandello's novel (ii. 36), .and was translated by 
Belleforestinto French, in Histoires Traqiques. Whether Shakespeare consulted any Italian source 
or not, he had doubtless before hiin the version of the story (from Cinthio's Hecatomithi) by Barnabe 
Rich— the Historie of Apolonms and Silla in Riche His Farewell to Mil itarie Profeiision (1581)— and 
this, in the main, he followed. The characters of Malvolio, Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Asjuecheek, 
Fabian, the clown Feste, and Mana, with the part they play in the comedy, are creations of Shake- 
speare No comedy of Shakespeare's uintes such abountUng mirth and line satire, with the charm 
of a poetical romance. It is the summing up of the several admirable qualities which appear in the 
joyous comedies, of which it forms the last. An edge is put on the roystering humor of Sir Toby 
by the sharp waiting-maid wit of Maria, which saves it from becoming an aimless rollicking. Sir 
Andrew is a Slender grown adult in brainlessness, and who has forgotten that he is not as richly 
endowed by nature as by fortune. Feste. the clown, is less quainl than Touchstone, but more versa- 
tile, less a contemplative fool, and more actively a lover of jest and waggery. Among this abandoned 
crew of topers and drolls stalks the solemn "yellow-legged stork " Malvolio. His sense of self-im- 
portance has diffused itself over all the details of his life, so that the whole of human existence, as 
he would have it, must become as pompous and as exemplary ,as the manners of my lady's steward. 
The cruelty of his deception and disillusion is in proportion to the greatness of his distempered self- 
esteem. The Duke Orsino is infected with the lover's melancholy, which is fantastical and ince. 
He nurses his love and dallies with it, and tries to yield up all his consciousness to it, as to a de- 
licious sensation . and therefore his love is not quite earnest or deep. Olivia has not the love-lan- 
guor of the Duke, but her resolve<i sorrow for her lost brother, so soon forgotten in a stronger feel- 
ing, shows a little of the same unreality of self-conscious emotion which we perceive in the Duke's 
love ; she is of a nature harmonious and rettned, but is "too much a child of wealth and ease to win 
away our chief interest from the heroine of the play Viola is like a heightened portrait of the Julia 
of The Tivo Gentlemen of Verona, enriched with lovely color and placed among more poetical sur- 
roundings. She has not the pretty sauciness of Kosaliiid in lier disguise, but owns a heart as tender 
sweet-natured, and sound-natured as even Rosalind's. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Orsino, Duke of Illyria, 

Sebastian, brother to Viola. 

Antonio, a sea caiitaiii, friend to Sebastian. 

A Sea Captain, friend to Viola 1 

Vtclentine, ) gentleman attending on the 

\CuKio, I PQ'ke. 

Sir Toby Belch, uncle to Olivia. 
Sir Andrew Aguecheek 
Malvolio, steward to Olivia. 

002) 



f™a Clown,! servants to OUvia. 

Olivia. 

Viola. 

Makia, Olivia's woman. 

Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and 

other Attendants. 

Scene : A city in Illyria, and the sea-coast 

neariL 



S,Zi.VH. 11. J 



TWELFTH NIGHT. 



Acr I. 

Scene I. 27ze Duke's poZoce. 

Enter Duke, Curio, and other Lords ; Mu- 
sic'i;ins attending. 

DuJct. If music be the food of love, play 
on ; 
(live luc excess of it, tliut, surfeiting, 
Tlui ;ii>i)Ctite iiiuy sicken, mid so die. 
Tluit scriiin again ! it had a dying fall : 
O, it t"iiiie o'er my ear like tlie sweet sound, 
riiiit iirc'-.thes upon a bank of violets, 
ito.iliii;; and giving odor ! Enough ; no more : 
"I'is 111 it so sweet now as it was before. 
* ) si>irit of love I how quick and fresli art thou, 
riiat, notwitlistandinu thy caiiacity 10 

Huceivt'th as tlie sea, n<juglit enters there, 
Of what validity and pitch soe'er, 
Hut falls into abatement and low i>rife, 
ICven in a minute : so full of shapes is fancy 
Tiiat it alone is high fantastical. 

L'ur. Will you go hunt, my lord ? 

Duke. What, Curio ? 

Cur. The hart 

Duke. Wliy, so I do, the noblest that 1 
havo ; 
f>, wlieii mine eyes did see Olivia first, 
JUthought she purged the air of [lestileuce! 
That instant was I turn'd into a hart ; 21 

And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, 
Ler siiice pursue me. 

Eater Valentine. 
How now ! what news from her ? 
Vcd. So please my lord, I might not be ad- 
mitted ; 
IVnt from her handmaid do return this an- 
swer ; 
The element itself, till seven years' heat, 
Wiall not behold her face at ample view ; 
iiiit, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk 
And water once a day her chamber round 
With eye-olTending brine : all this to season 
A l)rotiier's dead love, which she would keep 
fresli ol 

And lasting in her sad remembrance. 
Diikr. O, she that hath a heart of tliat fine 
frame 
To pay this debt of love but to a brother. 
How will she love, when the rich golden shaft 
llaiii kill'd tiie Hock of all affections else 
That live in her ; when liver, brain and heart, 
These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and 

fillM 
Her sweet iierfcctions witli one self king ! 
Away before mo to sweet beds of flowers : 40 
Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with 
^- bowers. lExeunt 

Scene H, 77te sea-coast. 

Enter Viola, a Capfciin, and Sailor: 

Vio, What country, friends, is this ? 

i'dp. This is lllyria, lady. 

Vio. And what should I do in lllyria ? 



My brother he is in Elysium. 
Perchance he is uotdiowu d: what think y-)u, 
sailors ? 

Cap. It is perchance thj^ you yourself were 
saved. 

Vio. O my poor brother 1 and so perchance 
may he be. 

Caj}. True, madam : and, to comfort you 
with chance. 
Assure yourself, after ourshi]) did split, 
When you and those poor number saved with 
you 10 

Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother. 
Most provident in peril, bind hiinself, 
Courage and hope both teaching him the prac- 
tice, 
To a strong mast that lived ujion the sea ; 
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back, 
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves 
So long as I could see. 

Vio. For saying so, there's gold : 
Mine own escape nufoldetli t) my hope, 
Whereto thy speech serves for authority, 20 
The like of him. Know'st thou this country ? 

Cup. Ay, madam, well ; for I was bred and 
born 
Not three hours' travel from this very place. 

Vto. Who governs here ? 

Cap. A noble duke, in nature as in name. 

Vio. What is the name ? 

Cap. Orsino. 

Vio, Orsino ! I have beard my father name 
him : 
He was a bachelor then. 

Cup. And so is now, or was so very late ; 
For but a mouth ago I weut from hence, '.il 
And then 'twas fresh in murmur, — as, you 

know, 
What great ones do the less will prattle of, — 
That he did seek the love of fair Olivia. 

Vio. What's she ? 

Cup. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a 
count 
That died some twelvemonth since, then leav- 
ing her 
In the protection of his son, her brother, 
Who shortly also died : for w hose dear love. 
They say, slie hath abjured the company 40 
And sight of men. 

Vio. that I served that lady 

And might not be delivered to the world. 
Till I had made mine own occasion mellow. 
What my estate is ! 

Cap. That were liard to compass ; 

Because she will admit no kind of suit, 
No, not tlie duke's. 

Vio. There is a fair behavior in thee, cap- 
tain ; 
And though that nature with a beauteous wall 
Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee 
I will believe thou hast a mind that suits 50 
With tliis thy fair and outward character. 
I prithee, and I'll pay thee bounteously, 
Conceal me what 1 am, and be my aid 
F'or such disguise as haply shall become 
The form of my intent. I'll servo this duke : 
S8 



594 



TWELFTH NIGHT. 



{Act I. 



Thcr shall present me as an eunuch to him : 
It lusy be Avorth thy pains ; for I can sing 
And speak to him in many sorts of music 
That will allow me very worth his service. 
What else may hap to time I will commit ; 60 
Only shape thou thy silence to my wit. 

Cap. Be you his eunuch, and your mute I'll 
be : 
When my tongue blabs, then let mine eyes not 
see. 

Vio. I thank thee : lead me on. \^Exeunt. 

Scene III. Olivia's /io?<.se. 
Enter Sir Toby Belch and Mabia. 

Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to 
take the death of her brotlier thus ? I am sure 
care's an enemy to life. 

Mar. By my troth, Sir Toby, you must come 
in earlier o' niglits : your cousin, my lady, 
takes great exceptions to your ill hours. 

Sir To. Why, let her except, before ex- 
cepted. 

Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself 
within the modest limits of order. ' 9 

Sir To. Confine ! I'll confine myself no 
finer than I am : these clothes are good enough 
to drink in ; and so be these boots too : an 
they be not, let them hang themselves in their 
own strai)s. 

Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo 
you : I heard my lady talk of it yesterday ; 
and of a foolish knight that you brought in one 
night here to be her wooer. 

Sir To. Who, Sir Andrew Aguecheek ? 

Mar. Ay, he. 

Sir To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illy- 
ria. 20 

Mar. What's that to the purpose ? 

Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats 
a year. 

Mar. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all 
these ducats : he's a very fool and a prodigal. 

Sir To. Fie, that you'll saj- so ! he plays o' 
the viol-de-gamboys, and speaks tliree or four 
languages word for word without book, and 
hath all the good gifts of nature. 29 

Mar. He hath mdeed, almost natural : for 
besides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller : 
and but tliat he hath the gift of a coward to 
allay the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis 
thought among the prudent he would quickly 
have the gift of a grave. 

Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels 
and subtractors that say so of him. Who are 
they ? 

ilar. They that add, moreover, he's drunk 
nightly in your company. .'59 

Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece : 
I'll drink to her as long as there is a passage 
in my throat and drink in Illyria : he's a 
coward and a coystrill that will not drink to 
my niece till his brains turn o' the toe like a 
parish-toj). What, wench ! Castiliano vulgo ! 
for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface^.. 



Enter Sir Andrew Aguecheek. 

Sir And. Sir Toby Belch I how now, Sir 
Toby Belch ! 

Sir To. Sweet sir Andrew ! 

Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew. BO 

Mar. And you too, sir. 

Sir To. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost. 

Sir And. What's that ? 

Sir To. My niece's chambermaid. 

Sir And. Good Mistress Accost, I desire 
better acquaintaucfe. 

Mar. My name is Mary, sir. 

Sir And. Good Mistress Mary Accost, — 

Sir To. You mistake, kniglit ; ' accost ' la 
front her, board her, woo her, assail her. 60 

Sir And. By my troth, I would not under- 
take her in this company. Is that the meaning 
of ' accost' ? 

Mar'. Fare you well, gentlemen. 

Sir To. An thou let iiart so. Sir Andrew, 
would thou mightst never draw sword again. 

Sir And. An you part so, mistress, I would 
I niiglit never draw sword again. Fair lady, 
do you think you have fools in hand ? 

Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand. 70 

Sir And. Marry, but you shall have ; and 
here's my hand. 

Mar. Now, sir, ' thought is free :' I pray 
yon, bring your hand to the buttery-bar and 
let it drink. 

Sir And. Wherefore, sweet-heart ? what's 
your metaphor ? 

Mar. It's dry, sir. 

Sir And. Why, I think so : I am not such 
an ass but I can ketp mj"^ hand dry. But 
what's your jest ? 80 

Mar. A dry jest, sir. 

Sir And. Are you full of them ? 

Mar. Ay, .sir, I have tliera at my fingers' 
ends : marry, now I let go your hand, I am 
barren. [Exit- 

Sir To. knight thou lackest a cup of 
canary : when did I see thee so put down ? 

Sir And. Never in your life, I think ; unless 
you see canary put rae down. Methinks some- 
times I have no more wit than a Christian or 
an ordinary man has : but I am a great eater 
of beef and I believe that does harm to my 
wit. 91 

Sir To. No question. 

Sir And. An I thought that, I'ld forswear 
it. I'll ride home to-morrow. Sir Toby. 
Sir To. Pourquoi, my dear knight ? 
Sir And. What is ' pourquoi ' ? do or not 
do ? I would I had bestowed that time in the 
tongues that I have in fencing, dancing and 
bear-baiting : O, had I but followed the arts ! 
Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent 
head of hair. '''11 

Sir And. Why, would that have mended 
ray hair ? 

Sir To. Past question ; for thou seest it will 
not curl by nature. 

Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, 
does't not ? 
Sir '■!> ^i>fieUent ' it hangs like flax on a 



Scene v.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT. 



696 



distaff ; and I 1 ope to see a housewife take 
thee between her legs and spin it off, 110 

Sir And. Faifh, I'll home to-niorrow, Sir 
Toby : your niece will not be seen ; or if site 
be, it's four to one slie'il none of me : the 
count himself here hard by woos her. 

Sir To. She'll none o' the count : she'll not 
match above her degree, neither in est^ite, 
years, nor wit ; I have heard her rwear't. 
Tut, there's life in't, man. 

Sir And. I'll stay a niontJi longer. lama 
fellow o' the strangest mind i' the world ; I de- 
light in masques and revels sometimes alto- 
gether. 121 

Sir To. Art thou good at these kiokshawses, 
knight ? 

Sir And. As any man in lllyria, whatso- 
ever he be, under the degree of my betters ; 
and yet I will not compare with an old man. 

Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard, 
knight ? 

Sir And. Faith, I can cut a caper. 

Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to't. 130 

Sir And. And I think 1 liave the back-trick 
pimply as strong as any man in lllyria. 

Sir To. Wherefore are these tilings hid ? 
wherefore have these gifts a curtain befoi-e 
'em ? are they like to take dust, like Mistress 
Mall's picture ? why dost thou not go to 
church in a galliard and come home in a cor- 
anto ? My very walk should he a jig ; I 
would not so much as make water but in a 
sink-a-pace. What dost thou mean? Is it a 
world to hide virtues in ? I did think, by the 
excellent constitution of thy leg, it was formed 
under the star of a galliard. 

Sir And. Ay, 'tis strong, and it does indif- 
Verent well in a flame-colored stock. Shall we 
i;et about some revels ? 

Sir 7c . What shall we do else ? were we 
cot bom under Taurus ? 

Sir And. Taurus ! That's .sides and heart. 

Sir To. No, sir ; it is legs and thighs. Let 
me see the caper ; ha ! higher : ha, ha ! ex- 
cellent ! [Exeunt. 151 

ScE-VE IV. The Duke's palace. 
Enter Valentine and Viola in 7na)i's attire. 

y\tl. If the duke continue these favors to- 
wards you, Cesario, you are like to be much 
advanced : he hath known you but three days, 
and already you are no stranger. 

Vio. You either fear his humor or my negli- 
gence, that you call in question the continu- 
ance of his love : is he inconstant, sir, in his 
favors ? 

Val. No, believe me. 

Vio. I thank you. Here comes tJie count. 
Enter DrsE, Curio, and Attendvits. 

Duke. "Who saw Cesario, ho ? jO 

Vio. On your attendance, my lord ; here. 

Duke. Stand you a while aloof, Cesario, 
Thou know'st no less but all ; I htve un- 

clasp'd 
To thee the book even of mj secret soul : 



Therefore, good youtli, address thy gait imto 

her ; 
Be not denied access, stand at her doors, 
And tell them, there tliy fixed loot shall grow 
Till thou have audience. 

Vio. Sure, my noble lord, 

If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow 
As it is spoke, she never will admit me. 20 
Duke. Be clamorous and leap all civil 
bounds 
Rather than make unprotited return 

Vio. Say I do speak with her, my lord, 

what then ? 
Duke. O, then imhjld the passion of my 
love, 
Surprise her with discour.se of my dear faith ; 
It shall become thee well to act my woes ; 
She will attend it better in thy youth 
Than in a nuncio's of more grave a.spect 
Vio. 1 think not so, my lord 
Duke. 'Dear lad, believe it ; 

For they shall yet belie thy liappy years, '60 
That siiy thou art a man : Diana'slip 
Is not more smooth and rubious ; thy small 

pipe 
Is as the maiden's organ, shrill and sound, 
And all is semblative a woman's part. 
1 know thy constellation is right apt 
For this affair. Some four or rive attend him; 
All, if you will ; for I myself am best 
When least in company. Prosper well in this. 
And thou shalt live as freely as tliy lord, 
To call his fortunes thine. 

Vio. I'll do my best 40 

To woo your lady : [A.'<ide] yet, a barfiU 

strife '. 
Whoe'er I vtoe, myself would be his wife. 

lExcunU 

Scene V. Olivia's Jionnc. 
Enter Maria and Clown. 

Mar. Nay, either tell me where tlu)n h.ast 
been, or I will not open my lips so wide as a 
bristle may enter in way of thy excuse : mv 
lady will hang thee 1- r thy absence. 

C'lo. Let her hang me : he that is well 
hanged in this world needs to fear no colors. 

Mar. Make that good. 

t'lo. He sliall see none to fear. 

Mar. A good lenten answer : I can tell 
thee where that sjiying was born, of ' 1 fear no 
colors.' 10 

C'lo. Where, good Jlistress Mary ? 

Mar. In the wars ; and that may you be 
bold to say in your foolery. 

C'lo. Well, 'God give them wi.sdom that 
have it ; and those that are fools, let them use 
their talents. 

Mar. Yet you will be hanged for being so 
long absent ; or, to be turned away, is not that 
as good as a hanging to you If ' 19 

Clo. Many a good hanging prevents a bad 
marriage ; and, for turning away, let summer 
bear it out. 

Mar Tou are resolute, then ? 



696 



TWELFTH NIGHT. 



[Ac 



Cfo. Not so, neither ; but I am resolved on 
r wo points. 

Mar. Tliiit if one brea^k, the other will 
hold ; or, if both break, your gaskins fall. 

Clo. Apt, in good faith ; very apt. Well, 
go tliy vcay; if Sir Toby would leave drinking, 
tlioii "wert as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as 
any in Illyria. 31 

Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that. 
Here comes my lady : make your excuse 
wisely, you were best. [E.rAt. 

Clo. Wit, an't be thy will, put me into good 
fooling ! Those wits, that think they have 
thee, do very oft prove fools ; and 1, that am 
sure I lack thee, may pass for a wise man : 
for what says Quinapalus ? ' Better a witty 
fool, than a foolish wit.' 40 

Enter Lady Olivia with Malvolio.; 

God bless thee, lady ! 

OIL Take the fool away. 

Clo. Do you not hear, fellows ? Take away 
the lady. 

OIL Go to, you're a dry fool ; I'll no more 
of you : besides, you grow dishonest. 

Clo. Two faults, madonna, that drink and 
good counsel will amend : for give the dry fool 
drink, then is the fool not dry : bid the dis- 
honest man mend himself ; if he mend, he is 
ni, longer dishonest ; if he cannot, let the 
botcher mend him. Any thing that's mended 
is hut patched : virtue that transgresses is but 
fKitched with sin ; and sin that amends is but 
l^atched with virtue. If that this simple syl- 
logism will serve, so ; if it will not, what renl^ 
oily ? As there is no true cuckold but calam- 
ity, so beauty's a flower. The lady bade 
taJio away the fool ; therefore, I say again, 
take her away. 

OIL Sir, I bade them take away you. 60 

Clo. Misprision in the highest degree ! 
Lady, cucullus non facit monachuni ; that's as 
much to say as I wear not motley in my brain, 
(iood madonna, give me leave to prove you a 
fool. 

OIL Can you do it ? 

Clo. Dexterously, good madonna. 

Oli Make your proof. 

Clo. I must catechize you for it, madonna : 
good my mouse of virtue, answer me. 

OIL Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I'll 
bide your proof, 71 

Clo. Good madonna, why mournest thou ? 

OU Good fool, for my brother's death. 

Clo. 1 think his soul is in hell, madonna. 

Oli. I know his soul is in heaven, fool. 

Clo. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for 
your brother's soul being in heaven. Take 
away the fool, gentlemen. 

OIL What think you of this fool, Malvo- 
!io ? dotli he not mend ? 80 

Mid. Yes, and shall do till the pangs of death 
Ij'uake him : infirmity, that decays the wise, 
doth ever make the better fool. 

Clo. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity, 
for the better increasing your folly 1 Sir Toby 



will be sworn that I am no fox ; but he wJll 
not pass his word for two pence that yoa are 
no fool. 

OU. How say you to that, Malvolio ? 

Mul. I marvel your ladyship takes delight 
in such a barren rascal : I saw him put down 
the other diiy with an ordinary fool that has 
no more brain than a stone. Look you now, 
he's out of his guard already ; unless you 
laugh and mhiister occasion to him, he is 
gagged. I protest, I take these wise men, that 
crow so at these set kind of fools, no better 
than the fools' zanies. 

OIL Oh, you are sick of self-love, Malvo- 
lio, and taste with a distempered appetite. To 
be generous, guiltless and of free disposition, 
is to take those things for bird-bolts that you 
deem cannon-bullets : there is no slander in 
an allowed fool, though he do nothing but 
rail ; nor no railing in a known discreet man, 
though he do nothing but reprove. 

Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leas- 
ing, for thou speakest well of fools ! 

Re-enter Maria. 

Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young 
gentleman much desires to speak with you. 

OIL From the Count Orsino, is it ? 

Mar. I know not, madam : 'tis a fair young 
man, and well attended. Ill 

OIL Who of my people hold him in delay ? 

Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. 

OIL Fetch him off, I pray you ; he speaks 
nothing but madman : fie on him! [Exit Maria.] 
Go you, Malvolio : if it be a suit from the 
count, I am sick, or not at home ; what j'oa 
will, to dismiss it. [Exit Malvolio.] Now you 
see, sir, how your fooling grows oM, and 
people dislike it. 

Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as 
if thy eldest son should be a fool ; whose skull 
Jove cram Avith brains ! for, — here he comes, 
— one of thy kin has a most weak pia mater. 

Enter Sir Toby. 

OU. By mine honor, half drunk. What is 
he at the gate, cousin ? 

Sir To. A gentleman. 

OU. A gentleman ! what gentleman ? 

Sir To. 'Tis a gentleman here — a plague on 
these pickle-herring ! How now, sot ! 

Clo. Good Sir Toby ! 130 

OIL Cousin, cousin, how have you come so 
early by this lethargy ? 

sir To. Lechery 1 I defy lechery. There's 
one at the gate. 

Oli. Ay, marry, what is he ? 

Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, 1 
care not : give me faith, say I. Well, it's all 
one. [Exit. 

OIL What's a drunken man like, fool ? 

CJo. Like a drowned man, a fool and a 
mad man : one draught above heat makes 
him a fool ; the second mads him ; and a third 
drowns him. 

OIL Go thou and seek the crowner, and let 



RrENE v.] 



TWELFTTT NIGHT. 



597 



hii'i sit o' my coz ; for he's iu the third Je- 
^ree ol drinU . he's drowned : go, look alter 
hiiu. 

Cto. lie is but raad yet, madonna ; and the 
fool sliall look to tlie madman. [Exit. 

^^.-^'^ Re-enter Mai.volio. 

Mai. Madam, youd young fellow swears he 
will speak with you. I told him you were 
sick ; he takes on him to understand so much, 
and tlierel'ore comes to speak with you. I told 
liiui you were asleep ; he seems to have a. 
lorekiiowledge of that too, and therefore 
comes to speak with yon. \Vhatisti> be said 
to him, lady? he's foititied against any denial. 

OIL Tell him he shall not speak with me. 

Mai. Has been told so ; and he says, he'll 
stand at your door like a sheriff's post, and be 
the supporter to a ben^'h, but lie'll speak with 
you. 

OIL What kind o' man is he ? 

Mai. Why, of mankind. 160 

OIL What manner of man ? 

Ma'. Of very ill manner ; he'll speak with 
you, will you or no. 

Oil. Of wliat personage and years is he ? 

Mai. Not yet old enough for a man, nor 
young enough for a boy ; as a squash is before 
'tis a peascod, or a codling when 'tis almost 
ail apple : 'tis with him in stiinding water, be- 
tween boy and man. He is very well-favored 
and he speaks very shrewishly ; one would 
think his mother's milk were scarce out of 
him. 171 

on. Let him approach : call in my gentle- 
woman. 

Mai. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. \^Exit. 

Re-entei''^l\v.ix. 
OIL Give me my veil : come, throw it o'er 
my face. 
We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy. 

Enter Viola, and Attendants. 

Vio. The honorable lady of the house, 
which is she ? 

OH. Speak to me ; I shall answer for her. 
Your will ? 180 

Vio. Most radiant, exquisite and unmatch- 
able beauty, — I pray you, tell me if this be the 
laii.N of the house, fori never saw her : I would 
he ioath to cast away my speech, for besides 
that it is e.xcellently well penned, I have taken 
great pains to con it. Good beauties, let me 
sustain no scorn ; I am Tery comirtible, even 
to the least sinister usage. 

OIL Whence came you, sir? 189 

Vio. 1 can say little more than I have 
studied, and that' question's out of my i)art. 
liood gentle one, give me modest assurance 
if you be the lady of the house, that I may 
proceed in my speech. 

OU. Are you a comedian ? 

Vio. No, ray profound heart : and yet, by 
the very fangs of malice 1 swear, I am not th: t 
1 play. Are you the lady of the house V 



on. If I do not usurp myself, 1 am. 

Vio. Most certain, if you are she, yoa do 
usurp youi-self ; for wliat is yours to bestow ia 
not yours to resene. But this is from my 
commission : I will on with my speech in your 
prai.se, and then .show you the heart of my 
message. 

Oh. Come to what is important in't : I for- 
give you the praise. 

Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, 
and 'tis poetical. 

OU. It is the more like to be feigneil : I 
pray you, keep it in. I heard you were saucy 
at my gates, and allowed your approach rather 
to wonder at you than to hear you. If you be 
not mad, begone ; ifyou have reason, bebrief: 
'tis not that time of moon with me to make 
one in so skipping a dialogue. 

Mar. Will you hoist sail, sir ? here lies your 
way. 

Vio. No, good swabber ; I am to hull here 
a little longer. Some mollification for youi 
giant, sweet lady. Tell me your mind : 1 am 
a messenger. 220 

OIL Sure, you have some hideous matter to 
deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. 
Speak your office. 

Vio. It alone concerns your ear I bring no 
overture of war, no taxation of homage : I 
hold the olive in my hand ; my words are as 
full of i)eace as matter. 

OIL Yet you began rudely. What are j-ou ? 
what would you ? , 'Jiilt 

Vio. The rudeness that hath api)eared in 
me have I learned from my entertainment. 
What I am, and what I would, areas secret as 
maidenhead ; to your ears, divinity, to any 
other's, jirofanation. 

Oh. Give us the place alone : we will hear 
this divinity. [Exeunt Maria and Altendautx.] 
Now, .sir, what is your text ? 

Vio. Most sweet lady, — 

on. A comfortable doctrine, and much may 
be said of it. Where lies your text ? IMO 

Vio. In Orsino's bosom. 

on. In his bosom ! In wh.at chaiiter of his 
bosom ? 

Vio. To answer by the method, iu the first 
of his heart. 

on. 0, I have read it: it is here.sy. Have 
you no moie to say ? 

Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. 

OH. Have you any commission from your 
lord to negotiate with my face? You are now 
out of your text : but we will draw the curtain 
and show you the picture. Look you, sir, such 
a one I was this present : is't not well done? 

[rnveiiinc;. 

Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. 

OIL 'Tis in grain, sir ; 'twill endure wind 
and weather. [white 

Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and 
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on ■ 
Lady, you are the cruell'st she alive. 
If you will lead these graces to the grave 260 
And leave the world no copy. 



598 



TWELFTH NIGHT. 



[Act il 



OIL O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted ; I 
will give out divers schedules of ray beauty : it 
shall be inventoried, and every particle and 
utensil labelled to my will : as, item, two lips, 
indifferent red ; iteni, two grey eyes, with lids 
to them ; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. 
Were you sent hither to praise me ? 

Vio. I see you what you are, you are too 
proud ; 
But, if you were the devil, you are fair. 270 
My lord and master loves you : (J, such love 
Could be but recompensed, though you were 

crown' d 
The nonpareil of beauty ! 

OIL How does he love me ? 

Vio. With adorations, fertile tears, 
With groans that thunder love, with sighs of 
fire. 

OIL Your lord does know my mind ; I can- 
not love him .• 
Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble. 
Of great estate, of fresh aud stainless youth ; 
In voices well divulged, free, learn'd and 

valiant ; 
And in dimension and the shape of nature 280 
A gracious person : but yet I cannot love him ; 
He might have took his answer long ago. 

Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame. 
With such a suffering, such a deadly life, 
In your denial I would find no sense ; 
I would not understand it. 

OIL Why, what would you ? 

Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate. 
And call upon my soul within the house ; 
Write loyal cantons of contemned love 
And sing them loud even in the dead of night ; 
Halloo your name to the reverberate hills 291 
And make the babbling gossip of the air 
Cry out ' Olivia ! ' O, you should not rest 
Between the elements of air aud earth, 
But you should pity me ! 

OIL You might do much. 

What is your parentage ? 

Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is 
well : 
I am a gentleman. 

OIL Get you to your lord ; 

I cannot love him : let him send no niore ; 
Unless, perchance, you come to me again, 300 
To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well : 
I thank you for your pains: spend this for me. 

Vio. I am no fee'd post, ladj' ; keep your 
purse : 
My master, not myself, lacks recompense. 
Love make his heart of flint that you shall 

love ; 
And let your fervor, like ray master's, be 
Placed in contempt ! Farewell, fair cruelty. 

[E.fit. 

Oli. ' What is your parentage ? ' 
' Above my fortunes, yet my state is well : 
I am a gentleraau.' I'll be sworn thou art ; 310 
Thy tongue, thy face, thy lirabs, actions and 

spuit, 
Do give thee five-fold blazon : not too fast : 
soft, soft 



Unless the master were the man. How now \ 
Even so quickly may one catch tlie plague f 
Methiuks I feel this youth's perfections 
With an invisible and subtle stealth 
To creej) in at raiue eyes. Well, let it be. 
What ln), Malvolio ! 

Ih'-enter Malvoi.io. 

Mat Here, raadara, at your service. 

OIL Run after that same peevish messen- 
ger, 
The county's man : he left this ring behind 

him, 
Would I or not : tell him I'll none of it. 321 
Desire him not to flatter witli his lord. 
Nor hold him up with hopes ; I am not for 

hira : 
If that the youth will come this way to-mor- 
row, 
I'll give liim reasons for't : hie thee, Malvolio. 
MaL Madam, I will. [Exit. 

Oli. I do I know not what, and fear to find 
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. 
Fate, show thy force : ourselves we do not 

owe ; 
What is decreed must be, and be this so. 

[Exit. 



ACT II. =«>..,__ 
Scene I. The sea-coast. 
Enter Antonio and Sebasti.\n. 

Ant. Will you stay no longer ? nor will you 
not that I go with you ? 

Seb. By your patience, no. My stars shine 
darkly over rae : the malignancy of my fate 
might perhaps distemper yours ; therefore I 
shall crave of you your leave that I may bear 
my evils alone : it were a bad recompense for 
your love, to lay any of them on you. 

Ant. Let me yet know of you whither you 
are bound. 10 

Seb. No, sooth, sir : ray determinate voyage 
is mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you 
so excellent a touch of modesty, that you will 
not extort from rae what I am willing to keep 
in ; therefore it charges me in manners the 
rather to express myself. You must know of 
me then, Antonio, my name is Seba.stian, 
whicli I called Roderigo. My father was that 
Sebastian of Mes.saline, whom I know you 
have heard of. He left behind hira myself and 
a sister, both born in an hour : if the heavens 
had been pleased, would we had so ended ! 
but YOU, sir, altered that ; for some hour be- 
fore you took me from the breach of the sea 
was ray sister drowned. 

Ant. Alas the day ! 

Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she 
much resembled me, was yet of many account- 
ed beautiful : but, though I could not with 
sucli estimable wonder overfar believe that, 
yet thus far 1 will boldly publish her ; she bow 



Scene hi.] 



TWELFTH NIGJJT. 



(m 



a mind that envy could not but call fair. She 
18 drowned already, sir, with salt water, though 
I seem to drown her remembrance again with 
more. 

Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertain- 
ment. 

Seb. O good Antonio, forgive me your 
trouble. 

Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, 
let me be your servant. 

Scb. If you will not undo what you have 
done, that is, kill him whom you have re- 
covered, desire it not. Fare ye well at once: 
my bosom is full of kindness, and I am yet so 
near the manners of my mother, that upon the 
least occasion more mine eyes will tell tales of 
me. I aic ooundto the Count Orsino's court : 
farewell. [Exit. 

Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with 
thee ! 
I have many enemies in Orsino's court, 
Else would I very shortly see thee there. 
But, come what may, I do adore thee so, 
That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. 49 

(Exit. 

Scene II. A street. 
Enter Viola, MAhvoLio following. 

Mai. Were not you even now with the 
Countess Olivia ? 

Vio. Even now, sir ; on a moderate pace I 
bdve-siuce arrived but hither. 

3/0/. She returns this ring to you, sir : you 
might have saved me my pains, to have taken 
it away yourself. She adds, moreover, that you 
should put your lord into a desperate assur- 
ance she will none of him : and one thing more, 
that you be never so hardy to come again in his 
affairs, unless it be to report your lord's tak- 
ing of this. Receive it so. 

Vio. She took the ring of me: I'll none of it. 

Mai. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to 
her ; and her will is, it sliould be so returned : 
if it be worth stooping for, there it lies in your 
eye ; if not, be it his that finds it. [Ej-it. 

Vio. I left no ring with her : what means 
this lady ? 
Eortune forbid my outside have not clVarm'd 

her ! 
She made good view of me ; indeed, so much, 
That sure methought her eyes had lost her 

tongue, 
For she did speak in starts distractedlj'. 
She loves me, sure; the cunning of her passion 
Invites me in this churlish messenger. 
None of my lord's ring ! why, he sent her 

none. 
I am the man : if it be so, as 'tis. 
Poor lady, she were better love a dream. 
Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness, 
Wherein t!ie pregnant enemy does much. 
How easy is it for the proper-false 30 

In women's wnxen hearts to set their forms ! 
Alas, our (railty is tiie cause, not we I 
For eueh as we are made of. such we be 



How will this fadge ? my master loves her 

dearly ; 
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him ; 
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me. 
What will become of this ? As i am man, 
My state is desperate for my ma.^ter's love ; 
As I am woman, — now alas the day ! — 
What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe 

time ! thou must untangle this, not 1 ; 4 1 
"vlt is too hard a knot for me to untie ! lExu 

} y 

(^/ScENE III. Olivia's house. 
Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew. 

Sir To. Approach, Sir Andrew : not to be a- 
bed after midnight is to be up betimes ; and 
' diluculo surgere,' thou know'st, — 

Sir And. Nay, my troth, I know not : but 

1 know, to be \\\) late is to be ui) late. 

Sir To. A false conclusion : I hate it as an 
unfilled can. To be up after midnight and to 
go to bed then, is early : .so that to go to bed 
after midnight is to go to bed betimes. Does 
not our life consist of the four elements ? 10 

,S'(/" And. . laith, so they .say; but I think it 
rather consists of eating and drinking. 

Sir To. Thou'rt a scholar ; let us therefore 
eat and drink. Marian, I say ! a stoup of wine \ 

Enter Clown. 

Sir And. Here comes the fool, i' faith. 

Clo. How now, my hearts ! did you never 
see the ])icture of ' we thiee ' ? 

Sir To. Welcome, ass. Now let's have r 
catch. 

Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an ex 
cellent breast. I had rather than forty shil- 
lings I had such a leg, and so sweet a breath to 
sing, as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast ir 
very gracious fooling last night, when tho» 
spokest of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians ])a.«s 
ing the equinoctial of Queubus : 'twas verj 
good, i' faith. I sent thee sixpence for thj 
lemau : hadst it ? 

Clo. I did impeticos thy gratillity ; for Mai 
volio's nose is no whipstock : my lady has g 
white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle 
ale houses. 

Sir And. Excellent I why, this is the best 
fooling, when all is done. Now, a song. 31 

Sir To. Come on ; there is sixpence for you 
let's have a song. 

Sir And. There's a testril of me too: if on» 
knight give a — 

Clo. Would you have a love-song , or a son^ 
of good life ? 

Sir To, A love-song, a love-song. 

Sir And. Ay, ay: I care not lor good life. 

Clo. [Simjs] 3? 

O miiitress mine, where are you roaming f 
O, stay and hear; your true love's coming 

That can sing both high and low: 
Trip no further, pretty sweeting ; 
Journeys end in lovers meeting, 

Every wise man's sou doth know 



600 



TWELFTH NianT, 



(Act n 



,S'<'/' Atnl. Excellent good, i' fnith. 
(S7/' To. Good, good. 
do. [Sin(i^\ 
What is love? 'tis not hereafter ; 
Present mirth hath present laughter ; 

What's to coine is still unsure : 50 

In delay there Res no plenty ; 
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, 
Youth's a stuff will not endure. 
Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as 1 am true 
knight. 
Sir To. A contagious breath. 
Sir And. Very sweet and contagious, i' faith 
Sir To. To hear hy the nose, it is dulcet in 
contagion. But shall we make the welkin 
dance Indeed ? shall we rouse the night-owl 
in a catch tliat will draw three souls out of 
one weaver ? shall we do tliat ? 

Sir And. An you love me, let's do't : I am 
dog at a catch. 

Clo. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch 

well. 
Sir And. Most certain, Let our catch be, 
'Thou knave.' 

Clo. ' Hold thy peace, thou knave,' knight ? 
I shall be constrained in't to call thee knave, 
knight. . 70 

Sir And. 'Tis not the first time I have con- 
strained one to call me knave. Begin, fool : it 
begins 'Hold thy peace.' 

Clo. I shall never begin if I hold my peace. 
Sir And. Good, i' faith. Come, begin. 

[Catch sviir/. 

Enter M.\ria. 

Mar. What a caterwauling do you keep 
here ! If my lady Imve not called up her 
steward Malvoli and bid him tui'i\you oat of 
doors, never trust me. 79 

Sir To. My lady's a Catalan, we are jwliti- 
cians, Malvolio's a'Peg-a-Ramsey, and ' Three 
merry men be we.' Am not I consanguineous? 
am I not of her blood ? Tillyvally. Lady ! 

[Sinr/,'<] 
' There dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady ! ' 

Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable 
fooling. 

Sir And. Ay, he does well enough if he be 
disposed, and so do I too: he does it with a 
better grace, but I do it more natural. 

Sir To. [Sinr/s] ' O, the twelfth day of De- 
cember,' — ' 91 

Mar. For the love o' God, peace ! 

Enter Malvolio. 

Mai. My masters, are you mad ? or what 
are you ? Have ye no wit, manners, nor 
lionesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time 
of night ? Do ye make an alehouse of my 
lady's house, that ye squeak out your cozi- 
«rs' cat(;hes without any mitigation or remorse 
of voice ? Is there no respect of place, per- 
sons, nor time in you ? 

Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our 
catches. Saeck up 1 101 



Mai. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. 
My lady bade me tell you, that, though she 
harbors you as her kinsman, she's nothing 
allied to your disorders. If you can sejjarate 
yourself and your misdemeanors, you are wel- 
come to the house ; if not, an it would please 
you to Uxke leave of her, she is very willing to 
bid you farewell. 

Sir To. ' Farewell, dear heart, since I must 
needs be gone.' 110 

Mar. Nay, good Sir Toby, 

Clo. ' His eyes do show his days are almost 
done.' 

Mai. Is't even so ? 

Sir To. ' But I will never die.' 

Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie. 

Mai. This is much credit to you. 

Sir To. ' Shall I bid him go '? ' 

Clo. ' What an if you do ? 

Sir To. ' Shall I bid him go, and spare not ? ' 

Clo. ' no, no, no, no, you dare not. ' 121 

Sir To. Out o' tune, sir : ye lie. Art any 
more than a steward ? Do.st thou think, be- 
cause thou art virtuous, there shall be no more 
cakes and ale ? 

Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall 
be hot i' the mouth top. 

Sir To. Thou'rt i' the right. Go, sir, rub 
your chain with crurnbs. A stoup of wine, 
Maria ! x 

Mai. Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's 
favor at any thing more than contempt, you 
would not give means for this uncivil rule : she 
shall know of it, by this hand. [Exit. 

Mar. Go sluike your ears. 

Sir And. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink 
when a man's a-hungry, to challenge him the 
field, and then to break promise with, him and 
make a fool of him. 

Sir To. Do't, knight : I'll write tliee a chal- 
lenjje ; or I'll deliver thy indignation to him 
by word of mouth. 141 

Mar. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for to- 
uig.iC •: since the youth of the count's was to- 
day with iry lady, she is much out of quiet. 
For Monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him : 
if I do not gull him into a nay word, and nmko 
him a common recreation, do not think I have 
wit enough to lie straight in my bed : I kriCAv 
I can do it. 

Sir To. Possess us, possess us ; tell us some 
thing of him. 150 

Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind ul 
puritan. 

Sir And. 0, if I thought that, I'ld beat him 
like a dog ! 

Sir To. What, for being a puritan ? thy ex- 
quisite reason, dear knight ? 

,S'/*' And. I have no exquisite reason for't, 
but I have reason good enough. 

Mar. The devil a puritan that he is, or any 
thing constantly, but a time-pleaser; an affec- 
tioned ass, that cons state without book and 
utters it by great swarths: the best persuaded 
of himself, so crammed, as he thinks, with 
excellencies, that it is his grounds o£ Vaitli that 



••^'i- h , 




' Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous. 
There shall he no more cakes and ale ? '' 

Twelfth Night, p. 600 



i 



Ppene IV.] 



TWELFTH NWITT. 



60! 



all that look on him love liiir. ; and on tliat 
\\ce in him will my revenge tiud noUxble canse 
to woiK". 

Sir To. What wilt thou do ? 

Min: I ■will drop in his way some obscure 
epistles of love ; wherein, by the color of his 
heard, the shape of his leg, the maimer of his 
gait, the exiiressnre of his eye, forehead, and 
comiilexioii, ho shall find himself most feelingly 
personated. 1 can write very like my lady 
your niece : on a forgotten matter we can 
hardly make distinction of our hands. 

Sir To. Excellent ! I smell a device. 

Sir And. I have't in my nose too. 

.S7/- Ti>. He shall tliink, by the letters that 
thou wilt drop, tliat tlioy come from my niece, 
and tliat she's in love with him. 180 

Mtr. 'sily purpose is, indeed, a horse of that 
color. I 

Sir^And. And your horse now would make 
him an ass. t 

Mar. A.ss, I doubt not. 

Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable ! 

Mar. Sport royal, I warrant yon : I know 
my j)hysic will work Avith liim. I will ])lant 
you two, and let the fool make a third, where 
he shall fmd the letter : observe his construc- 
tion of it. For this night, to bod, and dream 
on the event. Farewell. [7?3V^ 

Sir To. Good night, Penthe.silea. 

Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench. 

Sir To. She's a beagle, true-bred, and one 
that adores mo : what o' that ? 

Sir And- I was adored once too. 

Sir To. Let's to bed, knight. Thou hadst 
need .send for more money. 

Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I 
am a foul way out. " 201 

Sir To. Send for money, knight : if thou 
hast her not i' the end, call'me cut. 

Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take 
it how you will. 

Sir To. Come, come, I'll go burn some sack ; 
'tis too late to go to bed now : come, knight ; 
come, knight. [Exeunt. 

Scene IY. The DVke's palace. 
Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and others. 

Duke. Give me some music. Now, good 
morrow, frienda 

Now. good Cesario, out that piece of song. 
That old .and antique song we heard last night: 
Methought it did relieve my passion much. 
More than light airs and recollected terms 
Of these most brisk and giddy-i)aoed times: 
Come, but one verse. 

Ciir. He is not \\c\e, so please your lord- 
sliip that .should sing it. '' 

J)uke. Who was it Z 10 

Citr. Fest?, the jester, my lord ; a fool that 
the iadr Olivia's father took nuich delight in. 
He is about the house. 

Duke. Seek him out, and play the time the 
while. {Exit Oitrio. Mnair plaij.t. 

Come hither, boy: if ever thou shult love, 



In the sweet p.anars of it remember me ; 
For such as I am^[iU true lovers are, 
Un.staid and shittisITin all motions else. 
Save in the constant image of the creature 
That is beloved. \ Ilow dost thou like this 
tune ? ^ 'JO 

Via. It gives a very echo to the seat 
Where Love is throned. 

Duke. Thou dost speak masterly : 
]My life upon't, young thougli thou art, thine 

eye 
Hath stay'd upon some favor that it loves : 
Hath it not, boy ? 

Vio. A little, by your favor. 

Duke. What kind of woman is't ? 
Vio. Of your complexion. 

Duke. She is not worth thee, then. What 

years, i' faitii ? 
Vio. About your years, my lord. 
Duke. Too old, "by heaven : let still the 
woman tivke oO 

An elder than herself : so wears she to him, 
So sways she level in her husband's heart : 
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves. 
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm. 
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and 

worn. 
Than women's are, 

Vio. I think it well, my lord. 

Duke. Then let thy love be younger tlian 
thyself. 
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent ; 
For women are as roses, whose fair flower 
vBeing once \display'd, doth fall that verv 
hour.- j 40 

Vio. An^so they are : alas, that they are 
so ; 
To die, even when they to perfection grow ! 

Re-enter Cuuio and Clown. 
Duke. O. fellow, come, the song we had 
last night. 
Mark it, Cesario, it is old and plain ; 
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun 
And the free maids that weave their tiiread 

with bones 
Do use to chant it : it is silly sooth. 
And dallies with the innocence of love, 
Like the old age. 

""■^Sfe. Are you ready, sir ? 50 

Duke. Ay ; prithee, sing. [Music. 

Song. 
Clo. Come away, come away, death, 

And in sad cypre.ss let me be laid 
Fly away, fly away, breath ; 

i am slain by a fair cruel maid. 
My shroud of white, stuck all with 
yew, 
O, prepare it ! 
My part of death, no one so true 

Did share it. 
Not a flower, not a flower sweet, 60 
On my bkick cottin let there be 
strown ; 
^ot a friend, not a friend greet 



602 



TWELFTH NIGHT. 



fAcT II. 



My poor corpse, where my boues shall 

be thrown : 
A thousand thousand sighs to save, 

Lay me, O, where 
Sad true lover never tind my grave, 
To weep there ! 
Duke. There's for tky pains. 
Clo, No pains, sir : 1 take pleasure in sink- 
ing, sir. 70 
Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure then. 
Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, 
one time or another. 

Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee. 
Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect 
tliee ; and the tailor make thy doublet of 
changeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very 
opal. 1 would have men of such constancy put 
to sea, that their business might be every 
tiling and their Intent every where ; for that's 
it that always makes a good voyage of noth- 
kjjj^jjjjiitrewelL [Exit 81 

Duke. Let all the rest give place, 

[Ciirio and Attendants retire. 
Once more, Cesario, 
(Jet tliee to yond same sovereign cruelty : 
Tell her. my love, more noble than the world. 
Prizes not quantity of dirty lands ; 
The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon 

her, 
Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune ; 
But 'tis that miracle and queeu of gems 
Tliat nature pranks her in attracts my soul. 
Vio. But if she caiuiot love you, sir? iK) 
Duke. I cannot be so answer' d. 
Vio. Sooth, but you must. 

Say that some lady, as perhaps there is. 
Hath for your love as great a pang of heart 
AS you have for Olivia : you cannot love her; 
You tell her so ; must she not then be an- 
swer'd ? 
Duke. There is no woman's sides 
Can bide the beating of so strong a passion 
As love doth give my heart ; no woman's 

heart 
So big, to hold so much ; they lack retention 
Alas, their love may be call'd appetite, 100 
No motion of the liver, but the palate. 
That suffer surfeit, cloyment and revolt ; 
But mine is all as hungry as the sea, 
And can digest as much ■ make no compare 
Between that love a woman can bear me 
And that I owe Olivia. 

Vio. Ay, but I know — 

Duke. What dost thou know ? 
Vio. Too well what love women to men 
may owe : 
In faith, they are as ti'ue of heart as we. 
My father had a daughter loved a man, 110 
As it might be, perhaps, were 1 a woman, 
I should your lordship. 
Duke. And what's her history ? 

Vio. A blank, my lord I She never told her 
love, V^ 

But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, 
Feed on her damask cheek : she pined in 
thought, 



And with a green and j'ellow melancholy 
She sat like patience on a monument, 
Smiling at grief. \Was not this love indeed ? 
We men may say more, swear more : but in- 
deed 
Our shows are more than will ; for still we 
prove 120 

Much in our vows, but little in our love. 
Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my 

boy? 
Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's 
house. 
And all the brothers too : and yet I know not 
Sir, shall I to this lady ? 

Duke. Ay, that's the theme. 

To her in haste ; give her this jewel ; say. 
My love can give no place, bide no denay. 

,^^ [Exeunt. 

Scene V. Olivia's garden. 

Enter Sir Toby, Sik Andrew, and Fabian, 

Sir To. Come thy ways, Signior Fabian. 

Fab. Nay, I'll come : if I lose a scruple of 
this si)ort, let me be boil6d to death with mel- 
ancholy. 

Sir To. Wouldst thou not be glad to have 
the niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by 
some notable shame ? 

Fab I would exult, man : you know, he 
brought me out o' favor with my lady about 
a bear-baiting here 10 

Sir To. To anger him we'll have the bear 
again ; and we will fool him black and blue : 
shall we not. Sir Andrew ? 

Sit-^Md An we do not, it is pity of our 
lives. *> 

Sir To. Here comes the little villain. 

Enter Maria. 

How now, my metal of India ! 

Mar Get ye all three nito the box-tree : 
Malvolio's coming down this walk : he has 
been yonder i' the sun practising behavior to 
his own shadow this half hour : observe him, 
for the love of mockery ; for I know this let- 
ter will make a contemplative idiot of him. 
Close, in the name of jesting ! Lie thou there 
[throws doion a letter] , for here comes the 
trout that must be caught with tickling. 

[Exit. 
Enter Malvolio. 

Mul. 'Tis but fortune ; all is fortune. 
Maria once told me she did affect me : and I • 
have heard herself come thus near, that, 
should she fancy, it should be one of my com- 
plexion. Besides, she uses me with a more 
exalted respect than any one else that follows 
her. What should I think on't? 

Sir To. Here's an overweening rogue ! 

Fab. 0, peace ! Contemplation makes a 
rare turkey-cock of him : how he jets under 
his advanced plumes ! 

Sir And. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue! 

Sir To. Peace, I say 



Scene v.| 



TWELFTH NIGHT. 



603 



Mai. To be Count Malvolio '0 

Sir To. Ah, rogue ! 

Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him. 

Sir To. Peace, jieace ! 

Mat. There is example for't ; the lady of 
the Strachy married the yeoman of the ward- 
rolje. 

Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel ! 

Fab. O, peace ! now lie's deeply in : look 
how imagination blows him. 

Mat. Having been tlirce mouths married to 
her, sitting in my state, — 50 

Sir To. O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in 
the eye ! 

Mat. Calling my officers about me, in my 
branched velvet gown ; having come from a 
day-bed, where 1 have left Olivia sleeping, — 

Sir To. Fire and brimstone ! 

Fab. O, peace, peace ! 

Mat. And then to have the humor of state ; 
and after a demure travel of regard, telling 
them I know my place as I would they should 
do theirs, to ask for my kinsman Toby, — (Jl 

,S'//" To. Bolts and shackles ! 

Fab. O ])eace, jteace, peace ! now, now. 

Mai. Seven of my people, with an obedient 
start, make out for him : 1 frown the while ; 
and perchance wind up my watch, or play 
with my — some rich jewel. Toby approache.s ; 
courtesies there to me, — 

Sir To. Shall this fellow live ? 

Fab. Though our silence be drawn from 
us with cars, yet peace. 71 

Mat. I extend my hand to liim thus, 
quenching my familiar smile with an austere 
regard of control, — 

.S(/' To. And does not Toby take you a 
blow o' the lips then ? 

Mat. Saying, * Cousin Toby, my fortunes 
liaving cast me on your niece give me this 
prerogative of speech, '-- 

Sir To. What, what ? 80 

Mat. ' You must amend your drunkenness.' 

Sir To. Out, scab ! 

Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the 
sinews of our plot. 

Mat. ' Besides, you waste the treasure of 
your time with a foolish knight," — 

<S'/;- And. That's me, I warrant you. ^ 

Mat. ' One Sir Andrew,' — 

Sir And. 1 knew 'twas I ; for many do call 
me fool. !tO 

Mat. What employment have we here ? 

[Takiiif/ tip llie tetter. 

Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gm. 

Sir To. O, peace ! and the spirit of humors 
intimate reading aloud to him ! 

Mat. By my life, this is my kidy's hand 
these be her very C's, her U's and her T's ; 
and thus makes she her great P's. It is, in 
contempt of question, her hand. 

Sir And. Her C's, her U's and her T's : 
why that ? 1()0 

Mat. [Reads] ' To the unknown beloved, 
this, and my good wishes : ' — her very phrases! 
By your leave wax. Soft ! and the impl**- i 



sure her Lucrece, with which she uses to seal- 
'tis my lady. To whom should this be ? 

Fab. This wins him, liver and all. 

Mat. [Beads] 

Jove knows I love : 

But who? 
Lips, do not move ; 
No man must know. 110 

' HO man must know. ' What follows ? the 
luimbers altered ! ' No man must know :' if 
this should be thee, Malvolio? 

Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock ! 

Mat. [/icO(/aJ 
1 may command where I adore ; 

But silence, like a Lucrece knife. 
With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore: 
M, O, A, I, doth sway ray life. 

Fab. A fustian riddle ! 

Sir To. Excellent wench, say I. 120 

Mai. ' M, O, A, I, doth sway my life.' Nay, 
but first, let me see, let me see, let me see. 

Fab. What dish o' poison has she dressed 
him ! 

Sir To. And with what wing the staniel 
checks at it ! 

Mat. ' I may command where I adore." 
Why, she may command me : I serve her ; 
she is my lady. Why, this is evident to any 
formal capacity ; there is no obstruction in 
this : and the end, — what should that alpha- 
betical position portehd ? If I could make that 
resemble something in me, — Softly ! M, O, 
A, I,— 

Sir To. O, ay, make up that : he is now at 
a cold scent. 

Fab. Sowter will cry upon't for all this, 
though it be as rank as a fox. 

Mat. M,— Malvolio ; M,— why, that begins 
my name. 

Fab. Did not I say he would work it out ? 
the cur is excellent at faults. 140 

Mai. M, — but then there is no consonaucy 
in the sequel ; that suffers under probation : 
A should follow, but O does. 

Fab, And O shall end, I hope. 

Sir To. Ay, or Fll cudgel him, and make 
him cry O ! 

Mai. And then I comes behind. 

Fab. '- Ay, an you had any eye behind you, 
you might see more detraction at your heels 
than fortunes before you. 150 

Mat. M, O, A, I ; this simulation is not as 
the former ; and yet, to crush this a little, it 
would bow to me, for every one of these letters 
are iu my name. Soft ! here follows prose. 
( Read.s] ' If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In 
my stars I am above thee ; but be not afraid 
of greatness : , some are bom great, sonu- 
achieve greatness, and .some have greatness 
thrust upon 'em. \ Thy Fates open their hands ; 
let thy blood and' spirit embrace them ; and, to 
inure thyself to what thou art like to be, last 
thy humble slough and appear fresh. Be op- 
posite with a kinsman, surly with servants ; 
let thy tongue tang arguments of state ; put 
(li^seU into the trick of singularity : she tbu9 



604 



TWELFTH NIGHT. 



[Act hi. 



advises thee that sighs for thee. Remember 
who coiiiineiKied thy yellow stockings, and 
wislied ti) see tliee ever eross-gartered : I say, 
remeiiibei-. Go to, thou art made, if thou 
de.sirest to be ,so ; if not, let me see thee a stew- 
ard still, the fellow of servants, and not worthy 
to touch Fortune's fingers. Farewell. She 
that would alter services with thee, 

The Fortunate-Unhappy.' 
Daylight and champaia discovers not more : 
this is open. I will be proud, I will read politic 
authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off 
gross acquaintance, I will be point-devise the 
very man. I do uot now fool myself, to let im- 
agination jade me ; for every reason excites to 
this, that my lady loves me. She did commend 
my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my 
leg being cross-gartered ; and in this she mani- 
fests herself to my love, and with a kind of in- 
junction drives me to these habits of her likin;,. 
1 thank ray stars I am happy. I will be strange, 
stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, 
even with the swiftness of putting on. Jove 
and my stars be praised ! Here is yet a post- 
script. 

[Rads\ ' Thou canst not choose but know who 
I am. If thou entertainest my love, let it ap- 
pear in thy smiling ; thy smiles become thee 
well ; therefore in mj^ presence .still smile, dear 
my sweet, I ])rithee.' 

Jove, I thank thee : I will smile ; I will do 
everything that thou wilt have me. [Exit. 

Fab. i will not give my part of this sport 
for a pension of thousands to be paid from tlie 
Sophy. [device. 

Sir To. I could marrv this wench for this 

Sir And So could I too. 200 

Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her 
but such another jest. 

Sir And. Nor I neither. 

Fab. Here comes luy noble gull-catcher. 

Re-enter Maria. 

Sir To. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck ? 

Sir And. Or o' mine either ? 

Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, 
and become thv bond-slave? 

Sir And. r' faith, or I either? 209 

Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a 
dream, that when the image of it leaves him 
he must run mad. 

Mar. Xay, but say true ; does it work 
upon him ? -^. 

Sir To. Like aqua-vit£e with a midwife. ) 

Mar. tf you will then see the fruits of-the 
sport, mark his first approach before my lady: 
he will come to her in yellow stockings, and 
'tis a color she abhors, and cross-gartered, a 
fashion she detests ; and he will smile upon 
her, which will now be so unsuitable to her 
disposition, being addicted to a melancholy as 
she is, that it cannot but turn him into a nota- 
ble contempt. If you will see it, follow me. 

Sir To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most 
excellent devil of wit ! 

Sir And. I'll make cue too. [Exeunt. 



.J 



ACT III. 

Scene I. Olivia's c/arden. 



Enter Viol.v, and Clown with a tabor. 

Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy music : dost 
thou live by thy tabor ? 

Clo. No, sir, I live by the cliurch. • 

Vio. Art thou a churchman ? 

Clo. No such matter, sir : I do live by the 
church ; for I do live at my house, and my 
house doth stand by the church. 

Vio. So thou mayst say, the king lies by a 
beggar, if a beggar dwell near him ; or, the 
church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand 
by the church. 11 

Clo. You have said, sir. To see this age ! 
A sentence is but a cheveril glove to a good 
wit : how quickly the wrong side may be turn- 
ed outward ! f .,/" 

Vio. Nay, that's certain Nih^y that dally 
nicely with words may quiclcly make them 
wanton. ^ 

Clo. I would, therefore, my sister had had 
no name, sir. 20 

Vio. Why, man ? 

Clo. Why, sir, her name's a word ; and to 
dally with that word might make my sister 
wanton. But indeed words are very'rascalg 
since bonds disgraced them. 

Vio. Thy reason, man? 

Clo. Troth, sir, I can yield you none with- 
out words ; and words are grown so false, ' 
am loath to prove reason with them. 

Vio. I warrant thou art a merry fellow and 
carest for nothing. 'SI 

Clo. Not so, sir, I do care for something ; 
but in my conscience, sir, I do not care for you: 
if that be to care for nothing, sir, I would it 
would make you invisible. ^ 

Vio. Art not thou the Lady Olivia's fool ? 

Clo. No, indeed, sir ; the Lady Olivia has 
no folly : she will keep no fool, sir, till she be 
married ; and fools are as like husbands as 
pilchards are to herrings ; the husband's the 
bigger : I am indeed not her fool, but hor cor- 
ru]>ter of words. 

Vio. I .saw thee late at the Count Orsino's. 

Clo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb 
like the sun, it shines every where. I v.'ould 
be .sorry, sir, but the fool should be as olt with 
your master as with my mistress : I think I .saw 
your wisdom there. 

Vio. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no 
more with thee. Hold, there's expenses for 
thee. 

Clo. Now Jove, in his next commodity of 
hair, send thee a beard ! 51 

Vio. By my troth, I'll tell thee. I am almost 
sick for one ; [A.'^ide] though 1 would not have 
it grow on my chin. Is thy lady witliiu ? 

Clo. Would not a i)air of these have bred, 
sir ? [use. 

Vio. Yes, being kejit together and ])ut to 

C!o. I would play Lord Pandarus of Phry- 
gia, sir, to bring a Cressida to this Troilua. 



Scene i.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT. 



606 



Vi». I understind you, sir ; 'tis well begged. 

Clo. Tlie niiitter, 1 hope, is not great, sir, 
begging but a b(!ggar : Cressida was a beggar. 
My lady is witliin, sir. I will coustriie to them 
wlieiiicyou come ; who you are and what you 
would are out of my welkin, I might say ' ele- 
ment,' but the word iss over-worn. [Exit. 

Viu. Tiiis fellow^ is wise enough to play the 
fool; 
And to do that well craves a kind of wit : 
lit! nuistobserv e their mood on whom he jests, 
Tlie (jiiality of persons, and the time, 70 

And, Hive the haggard, check at every feather 
That comes before his eye. 'I'his is a practice 
As full of labor as a wise man's art : 
For folly that he wisely shows is fit ; 
But wise men, folly-fairn, quite taint their wit. 

Enter Sik Touy, and Sik Andrew, 

8ir To. Save you, gentleman. 

Vio. And yon, sir. 

8ir Anil. Dieu vous garde, monsieur. 

Vio. Kt vous aussi ; votre serviteur. 

air And. I hope, sir, you are ; and I am 
yours. 81 

Sir To. Will you encounter the house ? my 
niece is desirous you should enter, if your 
trade be to her. 

I'io. 1 am hound to your niece, sir ; I mean, 
she is the list of my voyage. 

Sir To. Taste your legs, sir ; put them to 
motion. 

Vio. My legs do better understand me, sir, 
than I understand w liat you mean by bidding 
me taste my legs. 91 

Sir To. I mean, to go, sir, to enter. 

J7o. I will answer you with gait and en- 
trance. But we are jjrevented. 

Enter Olivia and Maria. 
Most excellent accomplished lady, the hea- 
vens rain odors on you ! 

Sir A nd. That youth's a rare courtier : 
'Km in odors ; ' well. 

Vio. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to 
your own most pregnant and vouclisated ear. 

Sir And. 'Odors,' ' pregnant ' and 'vouch- 
safed :* I'll get 'em all three all ready. 

Oli. Let the garden door be shut, and leave 

me to my hearing. \Ej-ennt Sir Toby, Sir 

Andrc)i\ and .Maria.] Give me your hand, sir. 

Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble 

service. 
OH. What is your name ? 
Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair 
princess. [world 

Oli. My servant, sir ! 'Twas never merry 
Sines lowly feigning was call'd compliment : 
You're servant to the Count Orsino, youth. 
Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs 
bo yours : 
Yoir servant's servant is j'onrser\'ant, madam. 
Oli. For lum, I think not on him : for his 
thoughts, 
Would tlicy were blanks, rather than fill'd 
with m<j I 



Vio. IMadam, I come to whet your gentle 
thoughts. 
On his behalf. 

Oli. O, by your leave, I i)ray you, 

I bade you never speak again of him : 
Ikit, would you undertiike another suit, 
1 had rather hear you to solicit that 120 

Than music from the spheres. 

Vio. Dear lady, — 

Oli. Give me leave, beseech you. I did send, 
After the last enchantment yoii did here, 
A ring in chase of you : so did I abuse 
iM>self, my servant and, I fear me, you : 
I'lider your hard constructiof. nmst I sit. 
To force that on you, in a shameful cunning. 
Which you knew none of yours : what might 

you think ? 
Have you not set mine honor at the stake 
And baited it with all the unnuizzlcd thought.s 
That tyrannous heart can think ? To one of 
your receiving lol 

Enougli is shown ; a cypress, not a bostjin, 
Hidcth my heart. So, let me liear you speak. 

V.'o. I pity you, 

O .. That's a degree to love. 

Vio. No, not a grize ; for 'tis a vulgar proof 
That very oft we [lity enemies. 

Oli. Why, then, methinks 'tis time to smile 
again. 

world, how aiit the poor are to be jiroud ! 
If one should bo a prey, how much the l)etter 
To fall before the lion than the wolf ! 140 

[Clofk Mrikcs. 
The clock upbraids me with the waste of time. 
Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you: 
And yet, when wit and youth is come t4) harvest. 
Your wife is alike to reap a proper man : 
There lies your way, due west. 

Vio. Then wcstward-ho ! Grace and good 
disposition. 
Attend your ladyshiji ! 
You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me ? 

Oli. Stay : 

1 pritliee, tell me what thou thinkest of mc. 

Vio. That you do think you are not what 
you arc. 

Oli. If I think so, I think the same of you. 

Vio. Then think you right ; I am not what 
I am. [be! 

OH. I would you were as I would have you 

Vio. Would it be better, madam, than 1 ;im ? 
I wish it might, for now I am your fool. 

Oli. O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful 
In the contemjit and anger of his lii) ! 
A murderous guilt shows not itself more soon 
Than love that would seem hid : love's ni; lit 
is noon. IGO 

Cesario, by the roses of the spring, 
By maidhood, honor, truth and every thing, 
I love thee so, that, maugreall thy pride, 
Xor wit nor reason can my passion hide. 
Do not extort thy reasons from this clause, 
Yor that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause, 
But rather reason thus with reason fetter. 
Love sought is guod, but giveu unsought \f 
Ijetter. 



606 



TWELFTH NIGHT, 



(Act III. 



Vio. By innocence I swear, and by my 
youth, 
t have oue^art, one bosom and one truth, 170 
And tliat no woman has ; nor never none 
Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. 
And so adieu, good madam : never more 
Will 1 my master's tears to you deplore. 
on. Yet come again ; for thou perhaps 
mayst move 
That heart, which now abhors, to like his love. 
—r— [Exeunt. 

Scene II. Olivia's house. 
Enter Sir Tobv, Sir Andrew, cmd Fabian. 

Sir And. No, faith, I'll not stay a jot 
longer. 

Sir To. Thy reason, dear venom, give tliy 
reason. 

Fab. You must needs yield your renson, 
Sir Andrew. 

Sir And. Marry, I saw your niece do more 
favors to the count's serving-man than ever 
she bestowed upon me; 1 saw 't i' theorclianl. 

*'//• To. Did she see thee the while, old bov ? 
tell me that. 10 

Sir And. As plain as I see you now. 

Fab. TJiis was a great argument of love in 
her toward you. 

Sir And. 'Slight, will you make an ass <>' 
me ? 

Fab. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon 
the oaths of judgment and reason. 

Sir To. And they have been grand-jury- 
men since before Noah was a sailor. 

Fab. She did show favor to the youth in 
your sight only to exasperate you. to awake 
your dormouse valor, to put' fire in your 
lieart, and brimstone in your liver. You 
should then have acco.sted her ; and with some 
excellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you 
should have banged the youth into dumbness. 
This was looked for at your hand, and this 
was balked : the double "gilt of this opportu- 
nity you let time wash off, and you are now 
sailed into the north of my lady's opinion ; 
where you will hang like an icicle on a Dutch- 
man's beard, unless you do redeem it by some 
laudable attempt either of valor or policy. .31 

Sir And. An't be any way, it must be with 
valor ; for policy I hate : I had as lief be a 
Brownist as a politician. 

Sir To. Why, then, build me thy foitiines 
upon the basis of valor. Challenge me the 
count's youth to fight with him ; hurt him in 
eleven places : my niece shall take note of it ; 
and assure thyseff, there is no love-broker in 
the world can more prevail in man's commen- 
dation with woman than report of valor. 41 

Fab. There is no way but this, Sir Andrew. 

Sir And. Will either of you bear me a chal- 
lenge to him ? 

Sir To. Go, write it in a martial hand : be 
curst and brief ; it is no matter how witty, so 
it be eloquent and full of invention : taunt 
him with the license of ink : if tbou thou'st 



him some thrice, it shall not he amiss ; and as 
many lies as will lie in thy sheet of paper, 
altliough the sheet were big enough for the 
bed of Ware in England, set 'em down : gQ 
about it. Let there be gall enough in thy ink, 
though thou write with a goose-pen, no inatter: 
about it. 
Sir A nd. Where shall I find you ? 
,S'?> To. AVe'll call thee at the cubiculo : go. 
[Exit Sir Andreiv. 
Fab. This is a dear manakin to you. Sir 
Toby. 

Sir To. I have been dear to him, lad, some 
two thousand strong, or so. 

Fab. We shall have a rare lette^ from liim : 
but you'll not deliver't ? (U 

Sir To. Never trust me, then ; and by ali 
means stir on the youth to an auswer. I think 
oxen and waiuropes cannot hale them together 
For Andrew, if he were opened, and you find 
so Jiiuch blood in his liver as will clog the foot 
of a fiea, I'll eat the rest of the anat m>;. 

/''((/). And his oiiposite, the youth, bears in 

his visage no great i)resage of cruelty. 

Enter M.\kia 

Sir To. Look, wliere the youngest wren of 

nine comes. 71 

^far. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh 

yourselves into stitches, follow me. Yoiid gull 

Malvolio is turned heathen, a very renegado ; 

for there is no Cliristian, that means to be 

saved by believing rightly, can ever believe 

such impossible passages of grossness. He's 

in yellow stockings. 

Sir To. And cross-gartered ? 79 

Mar. Most villanously ; like a pedant that 

keei)s a school i' the church. I have dogged 

him, like his murderer. He does obey every 

]X)iut of the letter that I dropped to betray 

him : he does smile his face into more lines 

than is in the new map with the augmentation 

of the Indies : you have not seen such a thing 

as 'tis. I can lia.rdly forbear hurling things at 

him. I know my lady will strike him : if she 

do, he'll smile and take't for a great favor. 

Sir To. Come, bring us, bring us where he 
is.' [Exeunt. 90 

Scene III. A street^.. 

Enter Sebastian and Antonio. 

Seb. I would not by my will have troubled 
you ; ^ 
But; since you iMake your pleasure of your 

pains, 
I will no further chide you. 
Ant. I could not stay behind you : my de- 
sire, 
More sharp than filed steel, did spur me fort! ; 
And not all love to see you, though so much 
As might have drawn one to a longer voyage, 
Rut jealousy what might befall your travel. 
Being skilless in these parts ; which to a 

stranger, 
Unguided and unfriended, often prove 10 

Rough and unhospitable : my willing love. 






-r n 



' i' I I ii 'ill 




I 





Scene iv.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT. 



607 



The rather by these arguments of fear, 
Set forth in your pursuit. 

Seb. My kind Antonio, 

[ can no other answer make but thanks, 

tAud thanks ; and ever oft good turns 

Are shuffled oflf with such uncurreut pay : 
But, were my worth as is my conscience firm. 
You sliould find better dealing. What's to do? 
Shall we go see the reliques of this town ? 
Ant. To-morrow, sir : best first go see your 
lodging. 20 

Seb. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night : 
I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes 
With the memorials and the things of fame 
That do renown this city. 

Ant. Would you'ld pardon me ; 

I do not -without danger walk these streets : 
Once, in a sea-fight, 'gainst the count his gal- 
leys 
I did some service ; of such note indeed. 
That were I ta'en here it would scarce be 
answer' d. 
Seb. Belike you slew great number of his 

people. 
Ant. The offence is not of such a bloody 
nature ; 30 

Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel 
iMight well have given us bloody argument. 
It might have since been answer'd in repaying 
What we took from them ; which, for traffic's 

sake, 
INIost of our city did : only myself stood out ; 
For which, if I be lapsed in this place, 
1 shall pay dear. 
Seb. Do not then walk too open. 

Ant. It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here's 
my purse. 
In the south suburbs, at the Elephant, 
Is best to lodge : I will bespeak our diet, 40 
Whiles you beguile the time and feed your 

knowledge 
With viewing of the town : there shall you 
have me. 
Seb. Why I your purse ? [toy 

Ant. Haply your eye shall light upon some 
You have desire to purchase ; and your store, 
I think, is not for idle markets, sir. 

Seb. I'll be your purse-bearer and leave you 
For an hour. 
Ant. To the Elephant.^ 
S^b. I do remember. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Ojavia's garden. 
Enter Olivia and Makia. 

OH. I have sent after him : he says he'll 
come ; 
How shall I feast bim ? what bestow of him ? 
For youth is bought more oft than begg'd or 

borrow'd. 
I speak too loud. 

Where is Malvolio ? he is sad and civil, 
And suits well for a servant with my fortunes : 
Where i.s Malvolio ? 

}far. He's coming, madam ; but in very 
strange maimer. He is, sure, possessed, inadara • 



on. Why, what's the matter ? does he rave? 

Mar. No, madam, he does nothing but 
smile : your ladyship were best to have some 
guard about you, if he come ; for, sure, the 
man is tainted in's wits. 

Oil. Go call him hither. [Exit Maria.] I 
am as mad as he. 
If sad and merry madness equal be. 

Re-enter Maria, with Malvolio, 

How now, Malvolio ! 

Mai. Sweet lady, ho, ho. 

Oli. Smilest thou ? 
I sent for thee upon a sad occasion. 20 

Mai. Sad, lady ! I could be sad : this does 
make some obstruction in the blood, this cross- 
gartering ; but what of that ? if it please the 
eye of one, it is with me as the very true son- 
net is, ' Please one, and please all.' 

Oli. Why, how dost thou, man ? what is 
the matter with thee ? 

Mai. Not black in my mind, though yellow 
in my legs. It did come to his hands, and com- 
mands shall be executed : I think we do know 
tlie sweet Roman hand. 31 

Oli. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio ? 

Mai. To bed ! ay, sweet-heart, and I'll 
come to thee. 

Oli. God comfort thee ! Why dost thou 
smile so and kiss thy hand so oft ? 

Mar. How do you, Malvolio ? 

Mai. At your request ! yes ; nightingales 
answer daws. 

Mar. Why appear you with this ridiculous 
boldness before my lady ? 41 

Mdl. ' Be not afraid of greatness : ' 'twas 
well writ. 

Oli. What meanest thou by that, Malvolio? 

Mai. ' Some are bom great,' — 

OIL Ha ! 

Mai. ' Some achieve greatness,' — 

Oli. What sayest thou ? 

Mai. ' And some have greatness thrust upon 
them.' 50 

Oli. Heaven restore thee ! 

Mai. ' Remember who commended thy yel- 
low stockings,' — 

Oli. Thy yellow stockings ! 

Mai. ' And wished to see thee cross-gar- 
tered.' 

Oli. Cross-gartered ! 

Mai. ' Go to, thou art made, if thou desirest 
to be so ; ' — 

Oli. Am I made ? 

Mai. ' If not, let me see thee a servant 
still.' fiO 

Oli. Why, this is very midsummer madness. 

Enter Servant. 

Ser. Madam, the young gentleman of the 
Count Orsino's is returned : I could hardly 
entreat him back : he attends your ladyship' t 
pleasure. 

Oli. I'll come to him. [Exit Servant.} 
Good Maria, let this fellow be looked to 
Where's my cousin Toby ? tet some of my 



itns 



TWELFTH NIGHT. 



[Act in 



people have a special care of him : I would iiot 
have him miscarry lor the half of my dowry. 
[EreiDit Olivia and Maria. 70 
Mai. O, ho ! do you come near me now ? 
no worse man than Sir Toby to look to me ! 
Tins concurs directly with the letter: she sends 
him on ]iuri)ose, that I may appear stubijorn 
to Jiiin : for slie incites me to that in the letter. 
' Cast thy humlile sloiigli,' says she ; ' be op- 
posite with a kinsman, surly with servants ; 
let tliy tongue tang witli arguments of state ; 
]>ut tliyself into the trick of singularity ; ' and 
consequently sets down the manner how ; as, 
a sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow tongue, 
in the habit of some sir of note, and so fortli. 
I liave limed her ; but it is Jove's doing, and 
Jove make me thankful ! And when she went 
away now, ' Let this fellow be looked to : ' 
fellow ! not Malvolio, nor after my degree, but 
fellow. Why, every thing adheres together, 
that no dram of a scrujjle, no scruple of a 
scruple, no obstacle, no incredulous or unsafe 
circumstance — Wlmt can be said? Nothing 
tliat can be can come between me and the full 
l)rospect of my hopes. Well, Jove, not I, is 
the doer of this, and he is to be thanked. 

Re-enter Maria, vnlh Sjk Toby and Fabian. 

Sir To. Which way is he, in the nanie of 
sanctity ? If all the devils of hell be drawn in 
little, and Legion himself possessed him, yet 
I'll speak to him. 

Fah. Here he is, here he is. How is't with 
yon, sir ? how is't with yon, man ? 

Mai. Go off ; I discard you : let me enjoy 
my private : go off. 100 

Mar. Lo, how hollow the fiend si^eaks 
within hiin ! did not I tell you ? Sir Toby, my 
lady prays you to have a care of him. 

Mai Ah, ha ! does she so ? 

.S7r To. Go to, go to ; peace, i)eace : we 
must deal gently with him : let me alone. How 
do you, Malvolio ? how is't with you ? Wliat, 
man ! defy the devil : consider, he's an enemy 
to mankind. 

Mai. Do you know what you say ? 110 

Mar. La you, an you speak ill of the devil, 
how he takes it at heart ! Pray God, he be not 
bewitched ! 

Fah Carry his water to the wise woman. 

Mar, Marry, and it shall be done to-mor- 
row morning, if I live. My lady would not 
lose him for more than I'll say. 

Mai. How now, mistress ! 

Mar. O Lord ! 

Sir To Pritliee, hold thy peace ; this is not 
the way : do you not see you move him ? let 
me alone with bin.. 122 

Fah. Noway but gentleness; gently, gently: 
the fiend is rough, and will not be rouglily used. 

Sir To. Why, how now, my bawcock ! liow 
dost thou, chuck ? 

Mai. Sir ! 

Sir To. Ay, Biddy, come Avith me. What, 
man ! 'tis not for gravity to play at cherry-pit 
with Satan : hang him, foul collier ! 130 



Mar. Get him to say his prayjis, good Sii 
Toby, get him to pray. 

Mai, My i)rayers, minx ! 

Mar. No, I warrant you, he will not heai 
of godliness. 

Mai. Go, hang yourselves all ! you are idle 
shallow things : I am not of your element : 
you shall know more hereafter. \_Exit. 

Sir To. Is't possible ? 

Fah. If this were played upon a stage now, 
I could condemn it as an improbable fiction. 

-S'(/' To. His very genius hath taken the in- 
fection of the device, man. 

Mar. Nay, pursue him now, lest the de- 
vice take air and feiint. 

Fah. Wiiy, we shall make liim mad indeed. 

Mar. The house will be tlie cpiieter. 

Sir Til. Come, we'll have him in a dark 
room and bound. My niece is already in the 
belief that he's mad : we may carry it thus, 
for our pleasure and his penance, till our very 
pastime, tired out of breath, prompt us to 
have mercy on him : at which time we will 
bring the device to the bar and crown thee for 
a finder of madmen. But see, but see. 

Enter Siu Andrew. 

Fab. More matter for a May morning. 

Sir And. Here's the challenge, reacrit . i. 
warrant there's vinegar and pepper in't. 

Fah. Is't so saucy ? 

Sir And. Ay, is't, 1 warrant liim : do but 
read. KJl 

Sir To. Give me. , [Ecadu] ' Youth, what- 
soever thou art, thou art but a scurvy fellow.' 

Fab. Good, and valiant. 

Sir To. [Reads] 'Wonder not, nor admire 
not in thy mind, why I do call thee so, for I 
will show thee no reason for't. ' 

Fab. A good note ; that keeps you from 
the blow of the law. Ki'.i 

Sir To. [7?('rt(7.s] ' Thou comest to the lady 
Olivia, anc' in my sight she luses thee kindly . 
but thou liest in thy throat ; that is not tiic 
matter I challenge thee for.' 

Fah. Very brief, and to exceeding good 
sense — less. 

Sir To. [Reads] ' I will waylay thee going 
home ; where if it be thy chance to kill me,'— 

Fah. Good. 

Sir To. [Reads] 'Thou killest me like a 
rogue and a villain.' ISO 

Fab. Still you keep o' the windy side of the 
law : good. 

Sir To. [Reads] ' Faro thee well ; and G(jd 
have mercy upon one of our souls ! He may 
have mercy upon muie ; but my hope is bet- 
ter, and so look to thyself. Thy friend, as 
tliou usest him, and thy sworn enemy, 

Andrew Aguecheek.' 
If this letter move him not, his legs cannot : 
I'll give't him. 

Mar. You may have veiy fit occasion for't . 
he is now In some (x>mmerce with my lady, 
and will by and by depart. 

Sir To, Go, Sir Andrew ; scout me for him 



PCKNE IV. 



TWELFTH NTGHT. 



609 



at tlie corner of the orchard like a bum-baily: 
BO soon as ever thou seest him, draw ; and, as 
tliou drawest, swear honible ; for it conies to 
[lass oft that a terrible oath, with a swaggering 
accent sharply twanged off, gi^es manhood 
more approbation than ever proof itself would 
liave earned him. Away ! 200 

Sir And. Nay, let me alone for swearing. 

{Exil. 

Sir To. Now will not I deliver his letter : 
for the behavior of the young gentleman gives 
him out to be of good capacity and breeding ; 
his employment between his lord and my 
uiece confirms no less : therefore this letter, 
being so excellently ignorant, will breed no 
terror in the youth : he will find it comes from 
a clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver his challenge 
by word of mouth ; set u[)on Aguecheek a nota- 
ble report of valor ; and drive the gentleman, 
as I know his youth will aptly receive it, into a 
most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury 
and impetuosity This will so frightthcm both 
that they will kill one another by the look, 
like cockatrices. 

Re-enter Olivta, irith Yiol.\. 
Fab. Here he comes with your niece : give 
them way till he take leave, and presently af- 
ter liiin. 

Sir To. I will meditate the while upon some 

horrid message for a challenge. 220 

[Exeiinl Sir Tobi/, Fabian, and Maria. 

Oil. I have said too much unto a heart of 

stone 

And laid mine honor too unchary out : 

There's something in me that reproves my 

fault ; 
But such a headstrong potent fault it is, 
That it but mocks reproof. 

Vio. With the same 'havior that your pas- 
sion bears 
Goes on my master's grief. 

Oh. Here, wear this jewel for me, 'tis my 
picture ; 
Refuse it not ; it hath no tongue to vex you ; 
And I beseech you come again to-morrow. 2.30 
What shall you ask of me that I'll deny, 
That honor saved may upon asking give ? 
Vio. Nothing but this ; your true love for 

my master. 
Oli. iiow with mine honor may I give him 
that 
Which I have given to you ? 

Vio. I will acquit you. 

Oli. Well, come again to-morrow : fare thee 
well : 
A liend like thee might bear my soul to hell. 

[Exit. 

Re-enter Sir Tobv and Fabian. 

Sir To. Gentleman, God save thee. 

Vio. And you, sir. 239 

Sir T>. That defence thou hast, betake thee 

to't : of what nature tlie wrongs are thou hast 

done him, I know not ; but thy intercei)ter, 

full of despite, bloody as the hunter, attends 



thee at the orchard-end : dismount thy tuck, 
be yarein thy preparation, for thy assailant is 
quick, skilful and deadlj-. 

Vio. You mistake, sir ; I am sure no man 
hath any quarrel to me : my remembrance is 
very free and clear from any image of offence 
done to any man. 250 

Sir To. You'll find it otherwise, I assure 
you : therefore, if you hold your life at any 
price, betake j'ou to your guard ; for your op- 
posite hatli in him what youth, strength, skill 
and wrath can furnish man withal. 

Vio. I pray you, sir, what is he ? 

Sir To. lie is knight, dubbed with unhatched 
rapier and on carpet consideration ; but he is 
a devil in private brawl : souls and bodies 
hath he divorced three ; and his incensement 
at this iiHniient is so implacable, that satisfac- 
tion can be none but by pangs of death and 
sepulchre. Hob, nob, is his word ; give' t or 
take't. 

Vio. I ^vill return again into the liouse and 
desire some conduct of the lady. I am no 
tighter. I have heard of some kind of men 
that put quarrels purposely on others, to taste 
their valor : belilje this is a man of that quirk. 

Sir To. Sir, no ; his indignation derives it- 
self out of a very coniiietent injury : there- 
fore, get you on and give him his des'iie. Back 
yousiiall not to the iionse, unless you under- 
take that with me wliich with as much safety 
you might answer him : theiefore, on, or strip 
your sword stark naked; for meddle you must, 
that's certain, or forswear to wear iron about 
you. 

Vio. This is as uncivil as strange. I be- 
seech you, do me this courteous office, as to 
know of the knight wliat my offence to him 
is : it is something of nij' negligence, nothing 
of my purpose. 

Sir To. I will do so. Sigiiior Fabian, stay 
you \>y this gentleman till my return. [Exit. 

Vio. Pray you, sir, do you know of this 
matter ? 

Fab. I know the knight is incensed against 
you, even to a mortal arbitrement ; but noth- 
ing of the circumstance more. 

Vio. I beseech you, what manner of man is 
he ? 289 

Fab. Nothing of that wonderful jjromise, to 
read him by his form, as you are like to find 
him in the proof of his valor. He is, indeed, 
sir, the most skilful, bloody and fatal opposite 
that you could possibly have found in any part 
of Iliyria. Will you walk towards him ? 1 
will make your peace with him if i can. 

Vio. I shall be much bound to you for't : 
I am one that had rather go with sir priest 
than sir knight : I care not who knows so 
much of my mettle. [Exeunt. 300 

Re-enter Sir Toby, ivilh Sir Andrew. 

Sir To. Why, man, he's a very devil ; I 

have not seen such a firago. I had a pass with 

him, rapier, scabbard and all, and he gives me 

the stuck in with such a mortal motion, that it 

29 



610 



TWELFTH NIGHT. 



tAcT IIL 



Is inevitable ; and on the answer, he pays you 
as surely as your feet hit the ground they 
gtep on. They say he has been fencer to the 
Sophy. 

tiir And. Pox on't, I'll not meddle with 
him. 

Sir To. Aj', but he will not now be paci- 
fied ; Fabian can scarce hold him yonder. 310 

Sir And. Plague on't, an I thouglit he had 
been valiant and so cunning in fence, I'M 
have seen him damned ere I' Id have chal- 
lenged him. Let him let the matter slip, and 
I'll give him my horse, prey Capilet. 

Sir To. I'll make tlie motion : stand here, 
make a good show on't : this shall end with- 
out the perdition of souls. [Aside] Marry, 
I'll ride your horse as well as I ride you. 319 

Re-enter Fabian and Viola. 

[To Fab.] I have his horse to take up the 
quarrel : I have persuaded him the youth's a 
devil. 

Fab. He is as horribly conceited of him ; 
and pants and looks pale, as if a bear were at 
liis heels. 

Sir To. [To Vio.] There's no remedy, sir; 
he will fight with you for's oath sake : marry, 
lie hath better bethought him of his quarrel, 
and he finds that now scarce to be worth talking 
of : therefore draw, for the supportance of his 
voAV ; he protests he will not hurt you. 330 

Vio. [Aside] Pray God defend me ! A littla 
thing would make me tell them how much I 
lack of u man. 

Fab. Give ground, if you see him furious. 

Sir To. Come, Sir Andrew, there's no rem- 
edy ; the gentleman will, for his honor's 
sake, have one bout with you ; he cannot by 
the duello avoid it : but he has promised me, 
as he is a gentleman and a soldier, he will not 
hurt you. Come on ; to't. 340 

Sir' And. Pray God, he keep his oath ! 

Vio. I do assure you, 'tis against ray will. 
[They d7'aiv. 

Enter Antonio. 

Ant. Put up your sword. If this young 
gentleman 
Have done offence, I take the fault on me : 
If you offend him, I for him defy you. 

Sir To. You, sir ! why, what are you ? 

Ant. One, sir, that for his love dares yet do 
more 
Than you have heard him brag to you he will. 

Sir To Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am 
tor you. [ They draiv. 350 

Enter Officers. 

Fab. good Sir Toby, hold ! here come 
the officers. 

Sir To. I'll be with you anon. 

Vio. Pray, sir, put your sword up, if you 
please. 

Sir And. Marry, will I, sir ; and, for that 
I promised you, I'll be as good as my word : 
he will bear you easily and reins well. 

I'irst Og, TMs is the man ; do thy office; 



Sec. Off. Antonio, I arrest tliee at the suit 
of Count Orsino. 361 

Ant. You do mistake me, sir. 
First Off. No, sir, uo jot ; I know your fa- 
vor well. 
Though now you have no sea-cap on your 

head. 
Take him away : he knows I know him well. 
Ant. I must obey. [To Vio.] This comes 
with seeking you : 
But there's no remedy ; I shall answer it. 
What will you do, now my necessity 
Makes me to ask you for my purse ? It grieves 

me 
Much more for what I cannot do for you 370 
Tlian what befalls myself. You stand amazed; 
But be of comfort. 
Sec. Off. Come, sir, away. 
Ant. I must entreat of you some of thai 

money. 
Vio. . What money, sir ? 
For the fair kindness you have show'd me 
here, [trouble. 

And, part, being prompted by your present 
Out of my lean and low ability 
I'll lend you something : my having is not 

much ; 
I'll make division of my present with you : 
Hold, there's half my coffer. 381 

Ant. Will you deny me now ? 

Is't possible that my deserts to you 
Can lack persuasion ? Do not tem]it my 

misery. 
Lest that it make me so unsound a man 
As to upbraid you with those kindnesses 
That I have done for you. 

Vio. I know of none ; 

Nor know I you by voice or any feature : 
I liate ingratitude more in a man 
Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness, 
Or any taint of vice whose strong corruption 
Inhabits our frail blood. 391 

Ant. heavens themselves ! 

Sec. Off. Come, sir, I pray you, go. 
Ant. Let me speak a little. This youth that 
you see here 
I snatch'd one half out of the jaws of death, 
Relieved him with such sanctity of love. 
And to his image, whicli niethouglit did prom- 
ise 
Most venerable worth, did I devotion. 
First Off. What's that to us? The time 

goes by : away ! 
Ant. But O how vile an idol proves this 
god 
Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature 
shame. 400 

In nature there's no blemish but the mind ; 
None can be call'd deform'd but the unkind : 
Virtue is beautj", but tlie beauteous evil 
Are empty trunks o'erflourish'd by the devil. 
First Off. The man grows mad : away with 

him ! Come, come, sir. 
Ant. Lead me on. \ F^xit with Officers. 

Vio. Mechinks bis words do from such pa* 
siou iiy. 



ScENfi II.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT. 



611 



That he believes himself : so do not !. 

Prove true, imagination, 0, prove true, 409 

That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you ! 

Sir To. Come hither, knight ; come hither, 
Fabian : we'll whisper o'er a couplet or two of 
most sage saws. 

Vio. He named Sebastian : I my brother 
know 
Yet living in my glass ; even such and so 
In favor was my brother, and he went 
Still in this fashion, color, ornament, 
For him I imitate : 0, if it prove, 
Tempests are kind and salt waves fresh in love. 

{Exit. 

Sir Th. A very dishonest paltry boy, and 
more a coward than a hare : his dishonesty 
appears in leaving his friend here in necessity 
and denying him ; and for his cowardship, ask 
Fabian. 

Fab. A coward, a most devout coward, re- 
ligious in it. 

Sir And. 'Slid, I'll after him again and beat 
him. 

Sir To. Do ; cuff him soundly, but never 
drawthv sword. 

Sir And. An I do not,— [Exit. 430 

Fab. Come, let's see the event. 

Sir To. I dare lay any money 'twill be noth- 
ing yet. [Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 



Scene I. Before O^jvia's house. 
Enter Sebastian and Clown. 

Clo. Will you make me believe that I am 
not sent for you ? 

Seb. Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow: 
Let me be clear of thee. 

Clo. Well held out, i' faith ! No, I do not 
know you ; nor I am not sent to you bj' my 
lady, to bid you come speak with her ; nor 
your name is not Master Cesario ; nor this is 
not my nose neither. Nothing that is so is so. 

Seh. I prithee, vent thy folly somewhere 
else : 11 

Thou kuow'st not me. 

Clo. Vent my folly ! he has heard that 
word of some great man and now applies it to 
a fool. Vent my folly ! I tarn afraid tliis great 
lubber, the world, will prove a cocl^ney. I 
prithee now, ungird thy strangeness and tell 
me what I shall vent to my lady ': shall I vent 
to her that thou art coming ? 

Seb. I prithee, foolish Greek, depart from 
me : 
There's money for thee : if you tarry longer, 
I shall give worse payment. 21 

Clo. By my troth, tliou hast an open hand. 
These wise men that give fools money get 
themselves a good report — after fourteen years' 
purchase. 

Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby, and Fabian. 
Wr And. Now, sir, have I met you again ? 
there's for you. 



Seb. Why, there's lor thee, and there, and 
there. 
Are all the people mad ? 

Sir To. Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger 
o'er the house. 31 

Clo. This will I tell my lady straight : I 
would not be in some of your coats for two 
pence. [Exit. 

Sir To. Come on, sir ; hold. 

Sir And. Nay, let him alone : I'll go an- 
other way to work with him ; I'U have an ac- 
tion of battery against him, if there be any law 
in lUyria : though I struck him first, yet it's 
no matter for that. 

Seb. Let go thy hand. 40 

Sir To. Come, sir, I will not let you go. 
Come, my young soldier, put up your iron: 
you are well fleshed ; come on. 

Seb. I will be free from thee. What wouldst 
thou now ? 
If thou darest tempt me further, draw thy 
sword. 

Sir To. What, what ? Nay, then I must 
have an ounce or two of this malapert blood 
from you. 

Enter Olivia. 

Oil. Hold, Toby ; on thy life I charge tliee, 

hold ! 

Sir To. INIadam ! 50 

OH. Will it be ever thus ? Ungracious 

wretch, 

Fit for the mountains and the barbarous caves, 

Where manners ne'er were preach'd ! out of 

my sight ! 
Be not offended, dear Cesario. 
Rudesby, be gone ! 

[Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian 
i pritliee, gentle friend, 
Let thy fair wisdom, not tliy passion, sway 
In this uncivil and unjust extent 
Against thj' peace. Go with me to. my house. 
And hear thou there how many fruitless 

pranks 
This ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou thereby 
Mayst smile at this : thou shalt not choose but 
go : 61 

Do not den^'. Beshrew his soul for me. 
He started one [xjor heart of mine in thee. 
Seb. What relish is in this? how runs the 
stream ? 
Or I am mad. or else this is a dream : 
Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep ; 
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep ! 
Oil. Nay, come. I i)rithee ; would thou 'Idst 

be nileil by me ! 
Seb. Madam, I will. 
Oli. O, say so, and so be ! [Exeunt. 

Scene II. Olivia's house. 

Enter Maria and Clown. 

Mar. Nay, I in-ithee, put on this gown and 

this beard ; make him believe thou art Sir 

Topas the curate : do it quickly ; I'll call vSir 

I Toby the whilst. [Exit. 



612 



TWELFTH NIGBT. 



[Act IV. 



Clo. Well, I'll put it oil, and I will dissem- 
ble myself in't ; and [ would I were the first 
that ever dissembled in such a gown. I am 
not tall enough to become the function well, 
nor lean enough to be tliought a good student; 
but to be said an honest man and a good 
houselceeper goes as fairly as to say a careful 
man and a great scholar. The competitors 
enter. 

Enter Sir Toby and Maria. 

Sir To. Jove bless tliee, master Parson. 

Clo. Bonos dies, Sir Toby : for, as the old 
hermit of Prague, that never saw pen and inlc, 
yery wittily said to a niece of King Gorboduc, 
' That that is is ; ' so I, being Master Parson, 
am Master Parson ; for, what is ' that ' but 
' that,' and ' is ' but ' is ' ? 

Sir To. To him. Sir Topas. 20 

Clo. What, ho, I say ! peace in this prison ! 

Sir To. The knave counterfeits well ; a good 

Mai. [ Within'] Who calls there ? 

Clo. Sir Topas the curate, who comes to 
visit Malvolio the lunatic. 

Mai. Sir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas, 
go to mj^ lady. 

Clo. Out, hyperbolical fiend ! how vexest 
thou this man ! talkest thou nothing but of 
ladies ? 30 

*S';;' To. Well said, Master Parson. 

Mai. Sir Tojias, never was man thus 
wronged : good Sir Topas, do not think I am 
mad : they have laid me here in hideous dark- 
ness. 

Clo. Fie, tliou dishonest Satan ! I call thee 
by the most modest terms ; for I am one of 
those gentle oues that will use the devil himself 
with courtesy : savest thou that house is dark ? 

Mnl. As iiell, Sir Topas. 39 

Cl-t. Why it hath bay windows transparent 
as barrieadoes, and the clearstores toward the 
south north areas lustrous as ebony ; and yet 
complainest tlioii of obstruction ? 

Mai. I am not mad. Sir Topas : I say to 
you, this house is dark. 

Clo. Madman, thou errest : I say, there is no 
darkness but ignorance ; in which thou art 
more puzzled than the Egyptians in their fog. 

Mai. I say, this house' is as d.",rk as igno- 
rance, though ignorance were as dark as hell ; 
and I say, there was never man thus abused. 
I am no more mad than you are : make the 
trial of it in any constant question. 

Clo. Wliat is the opinion of Pythagoras 
concerning wild fowl ? 

Mai. Tliat the soul of our grandara might 
liai)ly inliabit a bird. 

Clo. Wliat tliinkest thou of his opinion ? 

Mai. I think nobly of the soul, and no way 
approve his ojtinion. 00 

CIn. Fare thee well. Remain thou still in 
darkness : thou shalt hold the opinion of Py- 
thagoras ere I will allow of thy wits, and fear 
to kill a woodcock, lest thou dispossess the 
Boul of thv grandam. Fare thee welL 

Mai. Sir Topas, Sir Topaa I ' i 



Sir To. My most exquisite Sir Topas ! 
Clo. Nay, I am for all waters. 
Mar. Tliou mightst have done this without 
thy beard find gown ; he sees thee not. 70 
Sir To. To him in tliine own voice, and 
bring me word how thou findest him : I would 
we were well rid of this knaverj'. If he may 
be conveniently delivered, I would he were, 
f(5r I am now so far in offence with my niece 
that I cannot pursue with any safety this sport 
to tiie upshot. Come by and by to my cliaiii- 
ber. [Exeiint Sir Toby and Maria. 

Clo. [Singing] ' Hey,- Robin, jolly Robin, 

Tell me how thy lady does.' 

Mai. Fool ! 80 

Clo. ' My lady is unkind, perdy.' 

Mai. Fool ! 

Clo. 'Alas, why is she so ? ' 

Mai. Fool, I say ! 

Clo. ' She loves another ' — Who calls, ha ? 

Mai. Good fool, as ever thou wilt de.serve 
well at my hand, help me to a candle, and pen, 
ink and paper : as I am a gentleman, I will 
live to be thankful to thee for't. 

Clo. Master Malvolio ? 90 

Mai, Ay, good fool. 

Clo. Alas, sir, how fell you besides your 
five wits ? 

Mai. Fool, there was never a man so noto- 
riously abused ; I am as well in my wits, fool, 
as thou art. 

Clo. But as well ? then you are mad indeed, 
if you be no better in your wits than a fool. 

Mai. They have here propertied me ; keep 
me in darkness, send ministers to me, asses, 
and do all they can to face me out of my wits. 

Clo. Advise you what you say ; the minis- 
ter is here. Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the 
heavens restore ! endeavor thyself to sleep, 
and leave thy vain bibble babble. 

3faL Sir Topas ! 

Clo. Maintain no words with him, good fel- 
low. Who, I, sir? not I, sir. God be wi' you, 
good Sir Topas. Marry, amen. I will, sir, I will. 

Mai. Fool, fool, fool, I say ! 110 

Clo. Alas, sir, be patient. What say you 
sir ? I am shent for speaking tr ^u. 

Mai. Good fool, help me to so.ne light and 
some paper : I tell thee, I am as well in my 
wits as any man in Illyria. 

Clo. Well-a-day that you were, sir ! 

Mai, By this hand, I am. Good fool, some 
ink, paper and light ; and convey what I will 
set down to my lady : it shall advantage thee 
more than ever the bearing of letter did. 120 

Clo. I will help you to't. But tell me true, 
are vou not mad indeed ? or do you but coun- 
terfeit? 

Mai. Believe me, I am not ; I tell thee true. 

Clo. Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman till I 
see bJs brains. I will fetch you light and papei 
and ink. 

Mai. Fool, FlI requite it in the highest de- 
gree : I i)rithee, be gone. « 

Clo. [Singing] I am gone, sir, 13C 

And anon, six. 



Scene i.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT. 



613 



I'll be with you again, 

In a trice, 

Like to tlie old Vice, 
Your need to sustain ; 

Who, with diijjxer of lath, 
In liis rage and liis wrath, 

Cries, ah, ha ! to the devil ; 
Like a mud lad, 
Pare tliy nails, dad ; 140 

t Adieu, good man devil. lExit. 

ScENK irn TJlivia's (jarden. 
Enter Sebastian. 
Seb. This is the air ; that is the glorious sun; 
This pearl she gave me, 1 do feel't jmd see't ; 
And thoiigli 'tis wonder thatenwraps me thus, 
Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Antonio, then ? 
] could not find liim at the Elephant : 
Yet there lie was ; and there 1 tound tliis credit, 
Tiiat lie did range the town to seek me out. 
His counsel now might do me golden service ; 
For though my soul disputes well witli my 

sense. 
That this may be some error, but no madness. 
Yet doth tliis accident and tlood of fortune 
So far exceed all instance, all discoui'se, 
That I am ready to distrust mine eyes 
And wrangle with my reason that persuades 

me 
To any otlier trust but that I am mad 
Or else tlie lady's mad ; yet, if 'twere so, 
She coidd not sway her house, command her 

followers, 
Take and give back affairs and their disjiatch 
With such a smooth, discreet and stable bear- 
ing 19 
As 1 perceive she does : there's something in 't 
That is deceiveable. But here the lady conies. 
Enter Olivia a/id Priest. 

OIL Blame not tliis haste of mine. If you 
mean well, 
Now go with me and with this holy man 
Into the chantry by : there, before him, 
And underneath that consecrated roof, 
Plight me the full assurance of your faith ; 
That my most jealous and too doubtful soul 
May live at peace. He shall conceal it 
Whiles you are willing it shall come to note. 
What time we will our celebration keep 30 
According to my birth. AVhat do you say ? 
Seb. I'll follow this good man, and go with 
you ; 
And, having sworn truth, ever will be true. 
OIL Then lead the way, good father ; and 
heavens so shine. 
That tl^ey may fairly note this act of mine ! 

lExextnt. 



ACTV. 



Scene I. Before Olivias horise^ 
Enter Clown and Fabian, 
Fab. Now, as thou lovest roe. let me se^ 
Bis letter. 



Clo. Good Master Fabian, grant me another 
reqiiest. ' 

Fab. Any thing. 

Clo. Do not desire to see this letter. 

Fab. This is, to give a dog, and in recom- 
pense desire my dog again. 

Enter Duke, Viola, Cukio, and Lords. 

Duke. Belong you to the Lady Olivia, 
friends ? 

C'/o. Ay, sir ; we are some of her trappings. 

Duke. 1 know thee well ; how dost thou, 
my good fellow ? 11 

Clo. Truly, sir, the better for my foes and 
the worse for my friends. 

Duke. Just the contrary ; the better for thy 
friends. 

Clo. No, sir, the worse. 

Duke. How can that be ? 

Clo. Marry, sir, they praise me and make 
an ass of me ; now my foes tell me i)laiiily I 
am an ass : so that by my foes, sir, I profit in 
the knowledge of myself, and by my friends 
I am abused : so that, conclusions to be as 
kisses, if your four negatives make your two 
affirmatives, why then, the worse for my 
friends and the better for my foes. 

Duke. Why, this is excellent. 

Clo. By my troth, sir, no ; though it please 
you to be one of my friends. 

Duke. Thou shalt not be the worse for me : 
there's gold. 31 

Clo. But that it would be double-dealing, 
sir, I would you could make it another. 

Duke. O, you give me ill counsel. 

Clo. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for 
tills once, and let your flesh and blood obey it. 

Duke. Well, 1 will be so much a sinner, to 
be a double-dealer : there's another. 

Clo. Primo, secundo, tertio, is a good play ; 
and the old saying is, the third pays for all : 
the triplex, sir, is a good triiijiing measure ; 
or the bells of Saint Bennet, sir, may put you 
in mind ; one, two, three. 

Duke. You can fool no more money out of 
me at this throw : if you will let your lady 
know 1 am here to speak with her, and bring 
her along with you, it may awake my bounty 
further. 

Clo. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till 
I come again. I go, sir ; but I would not have 
you to think that mj' desire of having is the 
sill of covetousness : but, as you say, sir, let 
your bounty take a nap, 1 will awake it anon. 

[Exit. 

Vio. Here comes the man, sir, that did 
rescue me. 

Enter Antonio and Officers. 

Dtike. That face of his I do remember well; 
Yet, when I saw it last, it was besraear'd 
As black as Vulcan in the smoke of war : 
A bavvbling vessel was he captjiin of, 
For shallow draught and bulk unprizable ; 
With which such scathful grapjile did he make 
With tUe uiyst uoWe bottom of our fleet, <jC 



614 



TWELFTH NIGHT. 



[Act t. 



That very envy a»<i tlie tongue of loss 

Cried fame and honor ou him. What's the 

matter ? 
First Off. OreJno, this is that Antonio 
Tliat took the Phoenix and her fraught from 

Candy ; 
Ad(? this is he that did the Tiger board, 
Wl^eu your young nephew Titus lost his leg : 
Hese in the streets, desperate of shame and 

state, 
In private brabble did vre apprehend him. 
Vio. He did me kindness, sir, drew ou my 

side ; 

But in conclusion put strange speech upon me : 

1 know not what 'twas but distraction. 71 

Duke. Notable pii-ate ! thou .salt-water thief! 

What foolish boldness brought thee to their 

mercies, 
Whom tliou, in terms so bloody and so dear, 
Hast made thine enemies ? 

Ant. Orsino, noble sir, 

Be pleased that I shake off these names you 

give me : 
Antonio never yet was thief or pirate, 
Though I confess, on base and ground enough, 
Orsiiio's enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither: 
That most ingrateful boy there by j'our side, 
From the rude sea's enraged and foamy mouth 
Did [ redeem ; a wreck past hope he was : 
His life I gave him and did tliereto add 
My love, witliout retention or restraint, 
Ail liis in dedication ; for his sake 
Did I e.vjiose myself, pure for his love, 
Into the danger of this adverse town ; 
Drew to defend him when he was beset : 
Wliere being apprehended, his false cunning. 
Not meaning to partake with me in danger, 90 
Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance, 
Anci grew a twenty years removed thing 
While one would wink ; denied me mine own 

purse, 
Wliich I had recommended to his use 
N jt lialf an hour before. 

Vio. How can this be ? 

Duke. When came he to this town ? 
Ant. To-day, my lord ; and for three 

months before. 
No interim, not a minute's vacancj^, 
Both day and night did we keep company 

Enter Olivia and Attendants. 

Duke. Here comes the countess : now 

heaven walks on earth. 100 

But for thee, fellow ; fellow, thy words are 

madness : 
Three months this vouth hath tended upon me; 
But more of tliat anon. Take him aside. 
Oil. What would my lord, but that he may 
not have, 
VVherein Olivia may seem serviceable ? 
Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. 
Vio. Madam ! 

Duke. Gracious Olivia, — [lord, — 

Oil. What do you say, Cesario ? Good my 

Vio- My lord would speak ) my duty hushes 

Jtae, 110 



OU. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord. 
It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear 
As howling after music. 

Duke. Still so cruel ? 

Oh. Still so constant, lord. 

Duke. What, to perverseness ? you uncivil 
lady, 
To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars 
My soul tliefaithfuU'st offerings hath breathed 

out 
That e'er devotion tender'd ! What shall I do ? 

Oil. Even what it please my lord, that 
shall become him. 

Duke. Why should I not, had I the heart 
to do it, 120 

Like to the Egyptian thief at point of death, 
Kill wliat I love ? — a savage jealousj' 
That sometime savors nobly. But hear me 

this : 
Since you to non-regardance cast my faith. 
And that 1 partly know the instrument 
That screws me "from my true place in your 

favor. 
Live you tlie marble-breasted tyrant still ; 
But this your minion, whom I know you love, 
And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender 

dearly. 
Him will I tear out of that cruel eye, loO 

Where ho sits crowned in his master's spite. 
Come, boy, witli me ; my thoughts are ripe in 

miscliief : 
I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love, 
To spite ai'aven's heart within a dove. 

Vio. And I, most jocund, apt and willingly, 
To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die. 

Oh. Where goes Cesario ? 

Via. After him I love 

Mora than I love these eyes, more than my 

life. 
More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife. 
If I do feign, you witnesses above 140 

Punish my life for tainting of my love ! 

Oh. Ay me, detested ! how am I beguiled ! 

Vio. Who does begilile you ? who does do 
you wrong? 

Oil. Hast thou forgot thyself ? is it so long ? 
Call forth the holy father. 

Duke. Come, away ! 

Oil. Whither, my lord ? Cesario, husband, 
stay. 

Duke. Husband ! 

Oli. Ay, husband : can he that deny ? 

Duke. Her husband, sirrah ! 

Vio. No, my lord, not I. 

OU. Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear 
That makes thee strangle thy propriety : 150 
Fear not, Cesario ; take thy fortunes up ; 
Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou 

art 
As great as that thou fear'st. 

Enter Priest 

O, welcome, father' 
Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence, 
Here to unfold, though lately we intended 
To keep in darkness what occasion now 



Scene i.] 



TWELFTH NIGHT. 



615 



Seveals before 'tis ripe, what tlion dost know 
Hath newlj^ pass'd between this youth and 
me. 

Pries' A contract of eternal bond of love, 
Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands, 
Attested Dy the holy close of lips, 161 

Strengthen d by interchangement of your 

rings • 
And all tlie ceremony of this compact 
Seal'd in my function, by my testimony : 
Since when, my watch hath told me, toward 

my grave 
I have travell'd but two hours. 

Duke. O thou dissembling cub I what wilt 
thou be 
When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case ? 
Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow, 16!) 
That tliiue own trip shall be thine overthrow ? 
Farewell, and take her : but direct thy feet 
Where thoualid I henceforth may never meet. 

Vio. My 'ord, I do i)rotcst — 

OH. O, do not swear . 

Hold little faith, though tliou liast too much 
fear. 

Enter SiK Andrew. 

Sir And. For the love of God, a surgeon! 
Send one presently to Sir Toby!. 

OH. Wliat's the nuilterV 

Sir And. He lias broke my liead across and 
lias given Sir Toby a bloixlx' coxcoml) too; 
for tile love of (iod, your iielp! 1 had raliier 
than ioitv jiouud 1 \Vere at home. Ihl 

Oil. \\ lio has done this. Sir Andrew ? 

Sir Anil. Tile count's gentleman, one Ce-- 
sario: wetooK hiiu for a coward, but lie's the 
very devil incarnate. 

Duke. My gentleman. Cesario ? 

Sir And. 'Od's lil'elings, here lie is ! You 
bro.vc my liead for notliing ; and tliat that I 
did, I was set on to do't liy Sir rol)y. 

Vio. Wiiy do you speak to me? I never 
hurt you : 190 

You drew your sword upon me without cause ; 
Kut I besi)ake you fair, and hurt you not. 

Sir And. If a bloody co.xcomb be a hurt, 
you have hurt me : 1 think you set nothing 
by a bloody coxcomb. 

Enter Sir Tokv and Clown. 
Here comes Sir Toby halting ; you shall hear 
more • but if lie had not been in drink, he 
would have tickled you othergates tlian lie did 

Duke. How now, gentleman ! how is't vt!" 
you ? >m 

Sir To. That's all one : has hurt me, and 
there's the end on't. Sot, didst see Dick sur- 
geon, sot? 

Clo. O, he's drunk, Sir Toby, an hour 
agone ; his eyes were set at eight i' the morn- 
ing. 

Sir To. Then he's a rogue, tand a passy 
measures panyn : I hate a drunken rogue. 

Oh. Away with him ! Who hath made this 
havoc witli tbein ? 

Sir And. I'll help you, gjp fpby, because 
we'U be dressed togetberi 8U 



Sir To. Will you help ? an ass-head and a 
coxcomb and a knave, a thin-faced knave, 
a gull 1 

Oli. Get him to bed, and Ipt his hurt be 

look'd to. lExeunt Clown, Fabian, Sir Tohy^ 

and Sir Andreio, 

Enter Sebastian. 

Seb. I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your 
kinsman ; 
But, had it been the brother of my blood, 
I must h.ave done no less with wit and safety. 
You throw a strange regard upon me, and by 

tliat 
I do perceive it hath offended you : 220 

Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows 
W uade each ther Ijut so late ago. 

Duke. One face, one voice, one habit, and 
two i)er.sons, 
A natural persi>ective, that is and is not ! 

Seb. Antonio, my dear Antonio ! 
How have the liours rack'd and tortured me. 
Since I have lost thee ! 

Ant. Sebastian are you ? 

Seb. Fear'st thou that, Antonio ? 

Ant. How have you made division of j'our- 
self? 
An ap])le, cleft in two. is not more twin 230 
Tliau these two creatures. Which is Sebas- 
tian ? 

OCi. Most wonderful ! 

Heb. Do 1 stand thei'e ? I never had a bro- 
ther ; 
Nor can there be that deity in my nature. 
Of liere and every wliere. I had a sister, 
\i horn the blind waves and surges have de- 
vour 'd. 
Of cliarity, wliat kin are you to me ? 
\\' hat countryman V what name V wliat parent- 
age?, 

Vio. Of Messaline: Sebastian was my 
father ; 
Such a Sebastian was my brother too, 240 
So went he suited to li:s watery tomb : 
If spirits can assume both form and suit 
You come to fright us. 

Seb. A spirit I am indeed ; 

But am in that dimension grossly clad 
AVliicli from tlie womb I did iiarticipate. 
Were you a woman, as tlie rest goes even, 
I should my tears let fall upon your clieek, 
And say ' Thrice-welcome, drowned Viola ! * 

^io. My father had a mole upon his brow 

.••ph And s had mine. 250 

*'«> And died that day when Viola from 
her birth 
Had number'd thirteen years. 

Seb. O, that record is lively in my soul ! 
He finished indeed his mortal act 
That day th.at made my sister thirteen years. 

Vio. "if nothing lets to make us happy both 
But this my masculine usurp'd attire, 
Do not embrace me till eacli circumstance 
Of place, time, fortune, do coliere and jump 
That I am Viola : which to contirm, 26Q 

I'll bring you to a captain in this town, 



616 



TWELFTH NIGHT. 



[Act v. 



Where lie ray maiden weeds ; by whose gen- 
tle help 

I was preserved to serve this noble count. 

All the occurrence of my fortune since 

Hatli been between tliis lady and this lord. 
Seb. [7*0 Olivia] So comes it, lady, you 
have been mistook : 

But nature to her bias drew in that. 

You would liave been contracted to a maid ; 

Nor are you therein, by my life, deceived, 269 

You are'betroth'd both to a maid and man. 
Du/ce. Be not amazed ; riglit noble is his 
blood. 

If this be so, as yet the glass seems true, 

I shall have share in this most hapjiy wreck. 

[To Vtola] Boy, thou hast said to me a tliou- 
sand times 

Thou never shouldst love woman like to me. 
Via. And all those sayings will I over- 
swear ; 

And all tlu)se swearings keep as true in soul 

As doth that orbed continent the fire 

That severs day from night. 
Diike. Give me thy hand ; 

And let me see tliee in thy woman's weeds. 
Via. The captain that did bring me first on 
shore 

Ilath my maid's garments . he upon some 
action 

Is now in durance, at Malvolio's suit, 

A gentleman, and follower of my lady's. 
Oil. He shall enlarge him . fetch Malvolio 
hither : 

And yet, alas, now I remember me. 

They say, poor gentleman, he's much distract. 

Re-enter Clown ivith a letter, and Fabian., 

A most extractmg frenzy of mine own 
From my remembrance clearly banish'd his. 
How does he, sirrah ? 290 

Clo. Truly, madam, he holds Belzebub at 
the staves's end as well as a man in his case 
may do : has here writ a letter to you ; I 
should have given 't you to-day morning, but 
as a madman's ei)istles are no gospels, so it 
skills not much when they are delivered. 

Oh. Open 't, and read it. 

Clo. Look then to be well edified when the 
fool delivers the madman. [Reads] ' By the 
Lord, madam,' — 300 

Oh. How now ! art thou mad ? 

Clo. No, madam, I do but read madness : 
an vour ladyship will liave it as it ought to be, 
you must allow Vox. 

Oli. Prithee, read i' thy right wits. 

Clo. So I do, madonna , but to read his 
right wits is to read th us : theref ore^perjiend, 
my princess, and give ear. 

Oh. Read it you, sirrah. [To Fabian. 

Fab. [Reads] ' By the Lord, madam, you 
wrong me, and tlie world shall know it: 
though you have put me into darkness nnd 
given your drunken cousin rule over me, yet 
nave t the benefit of my senses nt well as 
your ladyship. I have your owi- letter that 

loiiiucp^ m to tb9 Semblance 1 put on , with 



the which I doubt not but to do myself much 
riglit, or you much shame. Think of me as 
you please. I leave my duty a little unthought 
of and speak out of my injury. 

The madly-used Malvolio.' 
Oil. Did he write this ? 320 

Clo. Ay, madam. 

Duke. This savors not much of distraction. 

Oh. See liim deliver'd, Fabian ; bring him 

hither. [Exit Fabian. 

My lord, so please you, these things further 

tliought on. 
To tliink me as well a sister as a wife, 
One day shall crown the alliance ou't, so please 

you. 
Here at my house and at ray proper cost. 
Duke. Madam, I am most ai)t to embrace 
your offer. 
[To Viola] Your master quits you ; and for 

your service done him. 
So ranch iigainst the mettle of your sex, 330 
So far beneath your soft and tender breeding. 
And since you call'd me master for .«o long. 
Here is my hand : you shall from this time be 
Your master's mistress. 

Oh. A sister ! you are she.^ 

Re-enter Fabian, ivith Malvolio. 

Duke. Is this tlie madman ? 

Oh. Ay, my lord, this same. 

How now, Malvolio ! 

Mai. Madam, you hdve done me wrong, 

Notorious wrong. 

'Oil. '-Have I, Malvolio ? iio. 

Mel. Lady, you have. Pray you, peruse 
that letter. 
You must not now deny it is your hand : 339 
Write from it, if you can, in hand or phrase ; 
Or say 'tis not your seal, nor your invention : 
You can say none of this : well, grant it then 
And tell me, in the modesty of honor. 
Why you have given me such clear lights of 

favor. 
Bade me come smiling and cross-garter'd to 

you, 
To put on yellow stockings and to frown 
XJ])on Sir Toby and the lighter people ; 
And, acting this in an obedient hope, 
Wliy have yousuffer'd me to be imprison'd, 
Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest, 350 
And made the most notorious geek and gull 
That e'er invention play'd on? tell me why, 

Oh. Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing, 
Though, I confess, much like the character : 
But out of question 'tis Maria's hand. 
And now I do bethink me, it was she 
First told me thou wa.st mad ; then earnest in 

smiling, 
And in such forms wliich here were presupposed 
Upon thee in the letter. Prithee, be content : 
This practice hath most shrewdly pass'd upon 
thee ; 360 

But when we know the grounds and authors 

of it, 
Thou Shalt be both the plaipt4ff aocl tb© judge 

Of tUm Qwo cause. 



Scene i] 



TWELFTH NIGHT. 



611 



Fab. Good madam, hear me speak, 

And let no quarrel nor no brawl to come 
Taint the condition of tliis present hour, 
Which I have wouder'd at In liope it shall not, 
Most freely I confess, myself and Toby 
8et tills device against Malvolio here, 
Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts 
We had conceived agixiust him : Maria writ 
The letter at Sir Toby's great importance ; 371 
In recompense whereof he hath married her 
How with a sportful malice it was follow'd, 
May rather pluck on laughter tliaii revtnge ; 
If tiiat the injuries be justly weigh'd 
That hav(,M)n botli sides pass'd. 

Oh. Alas, ijoor fool, how have they baffled 
thee ! 

Clo. Why, ' some are born great, some 
Kcliieve greatness, and some have greatness 
tlirown upon them.' I was one, sir, in this 
interlude ; one Sir Tojias, sir ; but that's a-ll one. 
'By the Lord, fool, I am not mad.' But do 
you remember ? ' Madam, why laugh you at 
such a barren rascal ? an you smile not, lie's 
gagged : ' and thus the whirligig of time brings 
hi his revenges. 

Mai. I'll be revenged on the whole pack of 
you. [Exit. 

OH. He hath been most notxjrloiisly abused. 

Duke Pursue him, and entreat hiiu to a 
jjeace : 
He hath not told us of the captain yet : 390 
Svhen that is known and golden time convents, 
A solemn combiuatioa shall be made 



Of our dear souls. Meantime, sweet sister. 
We will not part from hence. Cesario, come ; 
For so you shall be, wliile you are a man ; 
But when in other habits you are seen. 
Orsiuo's mistress and his fancy's queen. 

lExeunt all, except Clown. 
Clo. [Sinqs] 
Wlien tliat I was and a little tiny boy, 
With hey, ho, tlie wind and the rain, 
A foolish thing was but a toy, 400 

For tlie rain it rainctli every day. 

But when I came to man's estate, 

With hey, ho, &c 
'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut th.^ir 
gate. 

For the rain, &c. 

But wlien I came, alas ! to wive, 

With hey, ho, <tc. 
By swaggering could I never thrive. 

For the rain, &c. 

But when I came unto my beds, 410 

With hey, lio, &c. 
With toss-pots still had drunken heads. 

For the rain, &c. 

A great while ago the world begun. 

With hey, ho, &c. 
But that's all one, our play is done. 
And we'll strive to please you every day. 

ExxL 



JULIUS CiESAR. 



(written about 1601.) 



INTRODUCTION. 

This tragedy was^ produced as early as 1601; so we infer from a passage in "Weaver's Afirror <jf 
Martyrs (1601) in which reference is maile to the speeclns of Uriitus and Anto.iy. The style of the 
Tcrsilication, the diction, the characterization, all beiir out the opinion that 1600 or 1001 is the date 
oi Julius f'cesar. The historical materials of tlie play were found by the dramatist in th« lives of 
Oaesar, of Brutus, and of Antony, as given in North's translation of Plutarch. Hints for the speeches 
■of Brutus and Antony seem to have been obtained from Ajipian's Ctyi/ tFars (B. II., ch. 1JT-14T) 
translated intoEnglisliiu 1578. Every thing is wrought out in the play with great care and complete- 
ness ; it is well planned and well proportioned; there is no tempestuousness of passion, and no 
artistic mystery. The style is full, but not overburdened witlr thought or imagery ; this is one of 
the most perfect of Shakespeare's plays ; greater tragedies are less perfect, perhaps for the very 
reason that they try to grasj) greater, more terrible, or more piteous themes. In A'inc/ Henri/ V. 
Shakespeare had represented a great and heroic man of action. In the serious plays, which come 
next in chronological order, Julius Ceesar and Hamlet, the poet represents two men who were forced 
to act — to act in public aftairs, and affairs of life and death — yet who were singularly disqualilied 
for playing the part of men of action. Hamlet cannot act because his moral energy is sapped by a 
kind of skepticism and sterile despair about life, because his own ideas are more to him than deeds, 
because his will is diseased. Brutus does act, but he acts as an idealist and theorizer might, with no 
eye for the actual bearing of facts, and no sense of the true importance of persons. Intellectual Joc- 
trines and moral ideas rule the life of Brutus ; and his life is most noble, high, and stainless, but 
his public action is a series of practical mistakes. Yet even while he errs we admire him, for al. his 
errors are those of a pure and lofty spirit. In his wife — Cato's daughter, Portia — Brutus has f mud 
one who is equal to and worthy of himself. Shakespeare has shown her as perfectly a woman- -sen- 
sitive, hnely-tempered, tender — yet a woman who by her devotion to moral ideas might stand beside 
such a father and such a husband. And Brutus, with all his Stoicism, is gentle and tender : he can 
strike down C.-esar if Cassar be a tyrant, but he cannot roughly rouse a sleeping boy (Act IV., Sc iii., 
L. 270). Antony is a man of genius, with many splendid and some generous qualities, but self-in- 
dulgent, pleasure-loving, and a daring adventurer rather than a great leader of the State. The char- 
acter of Ciesar is conceived in a curious and almost irritating manner. Shakespeare (as passages in 
other plays show) was certainly not ignorant of the greatness of one of the world's greatest men. 
But here it is his weaknesses that are insisted en. He is failing in body and mind, influenced by 
superstition, yields to flattery, thinks of himself as almost superhuman, has lost some of his insight 
into chara<'ter, and his sureness and swiftness of action. Yet the play is rightly named JuHus 
Ccesar. His bodily presence is weak, hut his spirit rules throughout the play, and rises after his 
death in all its might, towering over the little band of conspirators, who at length fall before the 
spirit of Ctesar as it ranges for revenge. 



DRAMATIS PERS0NJ3. 



DUS, ) 



triumvirs after 
death of Julius 
Csesar. 



Julius C/esar. 
octavius c/ks^r, 
Marcus Antonius, 

M. ^MILIUS LiPlDUS, 

Cicero, ] 

PuRLiue, > senators 

PopiliusLena, ) 

Marcus Brutus, 

Cassius, 

Casca, 

Trebonius, 

LlOARIUS, 

Decius Brutus, 
Metellus Cimber, 

CiNNA, 

Flavius and Marullus, tribunes. 
Artemidorus of Cuidos, a teacher of 

rhetoric. 
^ Soothsayer. 



conspirators against 
' Julius Csesar. 



(friends to Brutna imd 
Cassius, 



servants to Bratniik 



CiNNA, a poet Another Poet. 

LUCILIU.S, ] 

TiTINIUS, 

Mkssala, 
Young Cato, 
volumnius, 
Varro, 

C LIT us, 

Claudius, 

Strato, 

Lucius, 

Dardanius, 

PiNDARUs, servant to Cassius. 

Calpurnia, -wife to Csesar. 

Portia, wife to Brutus. 
Senators, Citizens, Guards, Attendants, fee 
Scene : Rtmie : the 7ieighborhood of Sardii : 
the neiyhborhood of Phili]i)pi, 



Scene ii.| 



JULIUS CJRSAR, 



610 



ACT L 
Scene I. Rome, A street. 

Enter Flavius, Maruli.us, and certain 
Commoners. 

Flav. Hence ! home, you idle creatures 
get you home : 
Is tliis a hoHday ? what ! know you not, 
Being mechanical, you ouylit not walk 
Upon a laboring day without the sign 
Of your profession ? Speak, what" trade art 
thou ? 

First Com. Why, sir, a carpenter. 

Mar. Where is thy leather apron and thy 
rule ? 
What dost tliou with thy best api)arel on ? 
You, sir, what trade are you ? 

Sec. Com. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine 

workman, I am but. as you would say, a 

cobbler. 11 

Mar. But what trade art thou ? answer 
me directly. 

Sec. Com. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may 
use with a safe conscience ; which is, indeed, 
sir, a mender of bad soles. 

Mar. What trade, thou knave ? thou 
naughty knave, what trade ? 

Sec. Com. "Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not 
out witli me : yet, if you be out, sir, I can 
mend you. 

Mar. What meanest thou by that ? mend 
ne, thou saucy fellow ! 21 

Sec. Com. Why, sir, cobble you. 

Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou ? 

Sec. Com. Truly, sir, all that 1 live by is 
with the awl : I meddle with no tradesman's 
niatters, nor women's matters, but witli awl. 
I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes ; when 
thej' are in great danger, I recover them. As 
proper men as ever trod upon neat's leather 
rave gone upon my liandiwork. 30 

Flar. But wherefore art not in thy shop to- 
day ? 
Why dost thou lead these men about the 
streets ? 

Sec. Com. Truly, sir, to wear out their 
ehoes, to get myself into more work. But, 
indeed, sir, we make holiday, to see Ciesar 
and to rejoice in his triumph. 

Mar. Wherefore rejoice ? What conquest 
brings he home ? 
What tributaries follow him to Rome, 
To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels ? 
You blocks, you stones, you worse than sense- 
less things ! 40 
O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, 
Knew you not Pompey ? Many a time and 

oft 
Have you climb'd up to wa'lls and battlements, 
To towers and windows, yea, to chimuey-topii. 
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat 
The live-long day, with patient expectation, 
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome : 
And when you saw his chariot but appear, 
Bavff you not m?)A^ a& iwiversal shout, 



Tliat Tiber trembled underneath her banks, 50 

To hear the replication of your sounds 

Made in her concave shores ? 

And do you now put on your best attire ? 

And do you now cull out a holiday ? 

And do you now strew (lowers in his way 

Tliat comes iu triumph over Pompey's blood ? 

Be gone ! 

Run to your houses, fall upon your knees. 

Pray to the gods to intermit the i)lague 

That needs must liglit on this ingratitude. GO 

Flue. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for 
this fault. 
Assemble all the ])oor men of your sort ; 
Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your 

tears 
Into the channel, till tlie lowest streani 
Do kiss the most e.xalted shores of all. 

[Ej-cunt all the Commoners. 
See whether their basest metal be not moved ; 
They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. 
Go you down that way towards the Capitol ; 
Tills way will 1 : disrobe the images. 
If you do find them decl<M with ceremonies. 

Mar. May we do so ? 
You know it is the feast of Lupercal. 

Flav. It is no matter ; let no images 
Be hung with Ciesar's troi)hies. I'll about. 
And drive away the vulgar from the streets : 
So do you too, where you perceive them thick. 
These growing feathers pluck'd from Ca'.sar'j 

wing 
Will make him fly an ordinary pitch, 
Who else would soar above the view of men 
And keep us all in servile fearfulness. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. A public place. 

Flourish. Enter C^sar ; Antony, for the 
course ; Calpurnia, Portia, Diccius, Cic- 
ero, Brutus, Cassius, awl Casca ; a great 
crowd folloiving, amomj them a Soothsayer. 

CoiS. Calpurnia ! 

Casca, Peace, lio ! C;¥sar speaks. 

Cies. Calpurnia ! 

Cal. Here, my lord. 

CVts Stand you directly iii Antonius' way, 
When he doth run his course. Antonius ! 

Ant. Caesar, my lord ? 

Cces. Forget not, in your speed, Antonius, 
To touch Calpurnia ; for our eldei-ssay, 
Tiie barren, touched in this holy chase, 
Shake off their sterile curse. 

Ant. I shall remember : 

When Cajsar ^ays ' do this,' it is perform'd. 10 

C'cES. Set on ; and leave no ceremony out. 

[Flourish. 

Sooth. Caesar ! 

Cces. Ha ! who calls ? 

Casca. Bid every noise be still : peace yet 
again ! 

Cces. Who is it in the press that calls on me? 
I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music, 
Cry ' Caesar ! ' Speak ; Ciesar is tuni'd to hear. 

*dOQ(h. Beware the ides of Marcjbu 



620 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



[Act 1, 



CoKS. What man is that ? 

Bru. A soothsayer bids you beware the ides 

of March. 
Cces. Set him before me ; let me see his 
face. 20 

Cas, Fellow, come from the throng ; look 

upon Caesar. 
CiBs. What say'st thou to me now ? speak 

once again. 
Sooth. Beware the ides of March. 
C(Bs. He is a dreamer ; let us leave him : 
pass. [Sennet. Exe^tnt all except 

Brutus and Cassias. 
Cas. Will vou go see the order of the course ? 
Bru. Not' I. 
Cas. I pray you, do. 

Bi'u. I am not gamesome : I do lack some 
part 
Of that quick spirit tliat is in Antony. 
Let me not hiuder, Cassias, your desires ; 30 
I'll leave you. 

Cas. Brutus, I do observe you now of late: 
I have not froui your eyes that gentleness 
And show of love as I was wont to have : 
You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand 
Over your friend that loves you. 

Bru. Cassius, 

Be not deceived : if I have veil'd my look 
I turn the trouble of my countenance 
Merely upon myself. Vexed I am 
Of late with passions of some difference, 40 
Conceptions only proper to myself, 
Which give some soil perhaps to my beha- 
viors ; • [grieved — 
But let not therefore my good friends be 
Among which number, Cassius, be you one — 
Nor construe any further my neglect. 
Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, 
Forgets the shows of love to other men. 

Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook 
your passion ; 
By means whereof this breast of mine hath 
buried 49 

Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. 
Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face ? 
Bi'u. No, Cassius ; for the eye sees not it- 
self. 
But by reflection, by some other things. 

Cas. 'Tis just : 
And it is very much lamented, Brutus, 
That you have no such mirrors as will turn 
Your hidden worthiness into your eye. 
That you might see your shadow. I have 

heard, 
Where many of the best respect in Rome, 
Except immortal C;esar, speaking of Brutus60 
And groaning underneath this age's yoke, 
Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes. 
Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me, 
Cassius, 
That you would have me seek into myself 
For that which is not in me ? 

Cas. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared 
to hear : 
And since you know you cannot see yourself 

8o well as by reflectioa, I, your glass, 



Will modestly discover to yourself 

That of yourself which you yet know>not of. 

And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus : 71 

Were I a couiraon laugher, or did use 

To stale with ordinary oaths my love 

To every new protester ; if you know 

That I do fawn on men and hug them hard 

And after scandal them, or if you know 

That I profess myself in banqueting 

To all the rout, then hold me dangerous. 

[Flouri.sli, and shout 
Bru. What means this shouting ? I do fear, 
the people 
Choose Ciesar for their king. 

Cas. Ay, do you fear it ? 80 

Then must I think you would not liave it so. 
Bru. I would not, Cassius ; yet I love him 
well. 
But wherefore do you hold me liere so long ? 
What is it that you would impart to me ? 
If it be auglit toward the general good, 
Set lionor in one eye and death i' tlie other 
And I will look on both indifferently. 
For let the gods so speed me as I love 
The name of honor more than I fear death. 
Cas. I know that virtue to be in you, Bru- 
tus, 9J 
As well as I do know your outward favor. 
Well, honor is the subject of my story. 
I cannot tell what you and other men 
Think of this life ; but, for my single self, 
I had as lief not be as live to be 
In awe of such a thing as I myself. 
I was born free as C;Esar ; so 'were you : 
We both have fed as well, and we can both 
Endure the winter's cold as well as he : 
For once, upon a raw and gusty daj", 100 
The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, 
Ca'sar said to me ' Barest thou, Cassius, now 
Leap in with me into this angry flood, 
And swim to yonder point ? ' ITpou the word, 
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in 
And bade him follow ; so indeed he did. 
Tiie torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it 
With lusty sinews, tlirowing it aside 
And stemming it with hearts of controversy ; 
But ere we could arrive the point proposed, 110 
Ciesar cried ' Help me, Cassius, or I siuk ! ' 
I, as jEneas, our great ancestor, 
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder 
The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of 

Tiber 
Did I the tired CjEsar. And this man 
Is now become a god, and Cassius is 
A wretched creature and niust bend his body, 
If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. 
He had a fever when lie was in Spain, 
And when the fit was on him, I did mark 120 
How he did shake : 'tis true, this god did 

shake : 
His coward lips did from their color Ay, 
And that same eye whose bend doth awe the 

world 
Did lose his lustre : I did hear him groan : 
Ay, and that tongue of big that li>f\4e the 
Romans 



Scene u.] 



JULIUS CJSSAR. 



6-21 



Mark him and write his speeches in their 

books, 
Alas, it cried ' Give me some drink, Titinius,' 
As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me 
A man of such a feeble temper should 
So get the start of the majestic world 130 

And bear the palm alone. [Shout. Flourish. 

Bru. Anotlier general shont ! 
I do believe that these applauses are 
For some new honors that are heap'd on Csesar. 
Cas. Why, man, he doth bestride the nar- 
row world 
Like a Colossus, and we petty men 
Walk under his huge legs and peep about 
To find ourselves dishonorable graves. 
Men at some time are masters of their fates : 
The fault, dear Brutus, is not incur stars, 140 
But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 
Brutus and Cresar : what should be in that 

' Ca'sar ' ? 
Why should that name be sounded more than 

yours ? 
Write thtm together, yours is as fair a name ; 
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well ; 
Weigh them, it is as heavy ; conjure with 'em, 
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. 
Now, in the names of all the gods at once. 
Upon what meat doth this our Cpesar feed. 
That he is grown so great ? Age, thou art 

shamed ! 150 

Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods ! 
When went there by an age, since the great 

flood. 
But it was famed with more than with one 

man ? 
When could they say till now, that talk' d of 

Home, 
That her wide walls encom pass' d but one man? 
Now is it Rome indeed and room enough, 
When there is in it but one only man. 
O, you and I have heard our fathers say. 
There was a Brutus once that would have 

brook 'd 
The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome 
As easily as a king. 161 

. Bru. That you do love me, I am nothing 

jealous ; 
What you would work me to, I have some aim : 
How I have tiiought of this and of these times, 
I shall recount hereafter ; for this present, 
I would not, so with love I might entreat you. 
Be any further moved. What you have said 
I will consider ; what you have to say 
I will with jiatience hear, and find a time 169 
Both meet to hear and answer such high things. 
Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this : 
Brutus had rather be a villager 
Than to repute himself a son of Rome 
Under these hard conditions as this time 
Is like to lay upon us. 

Cas. I aiu glad that my weak words 
Have struck but thus much show of fire from 

Brutus. [turning. 

Bru. The games are done and Ciesar is re- 
Cas. As they pass by, pluck Casca by the 

sleeve : 



And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you 
What hath proceeded worthy note to-day. 

Re-enter C.«sak and his Train. 

Bnt. I will do so. But, look you, Casshis, 
The angry spot doth glow on Ca'sar's brow, 
And all tlie rest look like a chidden train : 
Calpurnia's cheek is ])ale ; and Cicero 
Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes 
As we have seen him in the Cai)itol, 
Being cross'd in conference by some senators. 

Cas. Casca will tell us what the matter is. 

Cois. Antonius ! liK) 

Ant. Ca'sar ? 

CcBS. Let me have men about me that arc 
fat ; 
Sleek-headed men and such as sleep o' nights: 
Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look ; 
He thinks too much : such men are dangerous. 

Ant. Fear hinr not, Csesar ; he's not danger- 
ous ; 
He is a noble Roman and well given. 

Cces. Would he were fatter ! But I fear 
him not : 
Yet if my name were liable to fear, 
I do not know the man I should avoid 200 

So soon as that spai-e Cassius. He reads much , 
He is a great observer and he looks 
Quite through the deeds of men : he loves no 

plays, 
As thou dost, Antony ; he hears no music ; 
Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort 
As if he mock'd himself and scorn'd his sjiirit 
That could be moved to smile at any thing. 
Such men as he be never at heart's ease 
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves, 
And therefore are they very dangerous. 210 
I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd 
Than what I fear ; for always I am Csesar. 
Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf, 
And tell me truly wjiat thou think'st of him. 
[Se)Lnct. Exeunt Ccesar and all his 
Train, but Casca. 

Casca. You puU'd me by the cloak ; would 
you speak with me ? 

Bni. Ay, Casca ; tell us what hath chanced 
to-day, 
That C:esar looks so sad. 

Casca. Why, you were with him, were 
you not ? 

BnL I should not then ask Casca what had 
chanced. 219 

Casca. Why, there was a crown offered 
him : anil being offered him, he put it by with 
the back of his hand, thus ; and then the 
people fell a-shouting. 

Bru. What was the second noise for ? 

Casca. Why, for that too. 

las. They shouted thrice : w^hat was the 
last cry for ? 

Casca. Why, for that too. 

Bru. Was the crown offered him thrice? 

Casca. Ay, marry, was't, and he put it bj 
thrice, every time gentler than other, and at 
every puttiug-by mine honest neighbors 
shouted. 



822 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



[AcTf. 



Cos. Who offered him the crown ? 

Casca. Why, Antony.- 

Bru. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. 

Casca. I can as well be hanged as tell the 
manner of it : it was mere foolery ; I did not 
mark it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a 
crown ; — yet 'twas not a crown neither, 'twas 
one of these coronets ; — and, as I told you, he 
put it by once : hut, for all that, to ray think- 
ing, he would fain have had it. Then he of- 
fered it to him again ; then he put it by again: 
but, to my thinking, he was very loath to lay 
his lingers off it. And then he offered it the 
third time ; he put it the third time by : and 
still as he refused it, the rabblement hooted 
and clapped their chaiiped hands and threw 
up their sweaty night-caps and uttered such a 
deal of stinking breath because Cncsar re- 
fused the crown that it had almost choked 
Caesar ; for he swounded and fell down at it : 
and for mine own part, I durst not laugh, for 
fear of opening my lips and receiving the bad 
air. 

Cas. But, soft, I pray you : what, did 
C£esar swound ? 

Casca. He fell down in the market-place, 
and foamed at mouth, and was speechless. 

Bru. 'Tis very like : he hath the falling 
sickness. 

Cas. No, Caesar hath it not ; but you and I 
And honest Casca, we have the falling sick- 
ness. 

Casca. I know not what you mean by that ; 
but, I am sure, C;esar fell down. If the tag- 
rag people did not clap him and hiss him, ac- 
cording as he pleased and displeased them, as 
they use to do the players in the theatre, I am 
no true man. 

Bru. What said he wlien he came unto 
himself ? 

Casca. Marry, before he fell down, when 
he perceived the common herd was glad he 
refused the crown, he plucked me ope his 
doublet and offered them his throat to cut. 
An I had been a man of any occupation, if I 
would not have taken him at a word, I would 
I might go to hell among the rogues. And so 
he fell. When he came to himself again, he 
said, If he had done or said any thing amiss, 
he desired their worships to think it was his 
intirinity. Three or four wenches,, where I 
stood, cried ' Alas, good soul ! ' and forgave 
him with ail their hearts : but there's no heed 
to be taken of them ; if Caesar had stabbed 
their mothers, they would have done no less. 

Bru. And after that, he came, thus sad, 
away ? 

Casca. Ay. 280 

Cas. Did Cicero say any thing ? 

Casca. Ay, he spoke Greek. 

Cas. To what effect ? 

Casca. Nay, an I tell you that, I'll ne'er 
look you i' the face again : but those that un- 
derstood hiin smiled at one another and shook 
their heads ; but, for mine own part, it was 
Greek to me. I could tell you more news too : 



Marullus and Flavins, for pulling scarfs off 
Caesar's images, are put to silence. Fare yon 
well. There was more foolery yet, if I could 
remember it. 291 

Cas. Will you sup with me to-night, Cas- 
ca ? 

Casca. No, I am promised forth. 

Cas. Will you dine with me to-morrow ? 

Casca. Ay, if I be alive and your mind 
hold and your dinner worth the eating. 

Cas. Good : I will expect you. 

Casca. Do so. Farewell, both. [Exit. 

Bru. What a blunt fellow is this grown tc 
be! 
He was quick mettle when he went to school. 

Cas. So is he now in execution 301 

Of any bold or noble enterprise, 
However he puts on this tardy form. 
This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, 
Which gives men stomach to digest his words 
With better appetite. 

Bru. And so it is. For this time I will 
leave you : 
To-morrow, if you please to speak with me, 
I will come home to you ; or, if you will, 
Come home to me, and I will wait for you. 

Cas. I will do so : till then, think of the 
world [Exit Brutus. 311 

Well, Brutus, thou art noble ; yet, 1 see, 
Thy honorable metal may be wrought 
From that it is disposed : therefore it is meet 
That noble minds keep ever with their likes ; 
For who so firm that cannot be seduced ? 
CiEsar doth bear me hard ; but he loves Bru- 
tus : 
If I were Brutus now and he were Cassius, 
He should not humor me. I will this night, 
In several hands, in at his windows throw, 
As if they came from several citizens, 321 
Writings all tending to the great opinion 
That Rome holds of his name ; wherein ob- 
scurely 
Ciesar's ambition shall be glanced at : 
And after this let Ci^sar seat him sure ; 
For we will shake him, or worse days endura 

[Exit. 

Scene III. The same. A street. 

Thunder and lightning. Enter from opposite 
sides, Casca, with his sword drawn, and 
Cicero. 

Cic. Good even, Casca : brought you Caesar 

home ? 
Why are you breathless ? and why .stare you 

so ? 
Casca. Are not you moved, when all the 

sway of earth 
Shakes like a thing unfirm ? O Cicero, 
I have seen tempests, when the scolding 

winds 
Have rived the knotty oaks, and I ha\^o seen 
The ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam. 
To be exalted with the threatening clouds. : 
But never till to-night, never till now, 
Did 1 go through a tempest dropping fire. IC 



Scene hi.] 



JULIUS CyESAR 



623 



Either 1 hire is a civil strife in heaven, 
Or else tlie world, too saucy with the gods, 
Incenses them to send destruction. 
Cic. Whv, saw you any thing more won- 
derful ? 
Casca. A common slave — you know him 
well l.y si^lit — 
Held up Ills left hand, which did flame and 

burn 
Like twenty torches join'd, and yet his hand. 
Not sensible of fire, remain'd unscorch'd. 
Hesi ' s — 1 ha' not since put uj) my sword — 
Against the Capitol 1 met a lion, 20 

who glared upon me, and went surly by, 
Without annoying me : and there were drawn 
Upon a heap a hundred ghastly womoi, 
Transformed with their fear ; who swore 

they saw 
Men all in fire walk up and dnvn the streets. 
And yesterday the bird of niuht did sit 
Even at noon-day upon the marktt-})lace, 
Hooting and shrieking. When these prodi- 
gies 
Do so conjointly meet, let not men say 
' These are their reasons ; they are natural ; ' 
For, I believe, they are portentous things 31 
Unto the climate that thej' point upon. 

Cic. Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time : 

But men may construe things alter their 

fashion, [selves. 

Clean from the purpose of the things them- 

ComeCresar to the Capitol to-morrow ? 

Casca. He doth ; for he did bid Antonius 
■Send Avord to you he would be there to-mor- 
row. 
Cic. Good night then, Casca : this dis- 
turbed sky" 
Is not to walk in'. 

Casca. Farewell, Cicero, [Ejcit Cicero. 40 

Enier Cassius. 

Cas. Who's there ? 

Casca. A Roman. 

Cas. Casca, by your voice. 

Casca. Youi* ear is good. Cassius, what 

night is this ! 
Cas. A very plea'sing night to honest men. 
Casca. Who ever knew the heavens men- 
ace so ? 
Cas. Those that have known the earth so 
fullof faults. 
For my part, I have walk'd about the streets, 
Sabmitting me unto the perilous night. 
And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see, 
Have bared my bosom to the thunder-stone ; 
And when the cross blue lightning seem'd to 
ope.'i ' 60 

The breast of heaven, I did pres'-nt myself 
Even in the aim and very flash ol it. 

Casca. But wherefore did you so much 
tem|)t the heavens ? 
It is the part of men to fear and tremble, 
When the most mighty gods bv tokens send 
Such dreadful heralds to astonish us. 
Cas. You are dull, Casca, and those spark 
of life 



That should be in a Roman you do want, 
Or else you use not. You look pale and gaze 
And put on fear and cast yourself in wonder, 
To see the strange impatience of the heavens : 
But if you would consider the true cause 
W'hy all these fires, why all these gliding 

ghosts, 
AVhy birds and beasts from quality and kind. 
Why old men fool and children calculate. 
Why all these things change from their ordi- 
nance 
Their natures and preformed faculties 
To monstrous quality, — why, you shall find 
That heaven hath infused them with these 

spirits. 
To make them instruments of fear and warn- 
ing 70 
Unto some monstrous state. 
Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man 
Most like this dreadful night. 
That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and 

roars 
As doth the lion in the Capitol, 
A man no mightier than thyself or me 
In personal action, yet prodigious grown 
And fearful, as tliese strange eruptions are. 
Casca. 'Tis Caesar that you mean ; is it net 
Cassius ? 79 

Cas. Let it be who it is : for Romans now 
Have thews and limbs like to their ancestors ; 
But, woe the while ! our fathers' minds are 

dead. 
And we are govern'd with our mothers' spir- 
its ; 
Our yoke and sufferance show us womanish. 
Casca. Indeed, they say the senators to- 
morrow 
Mean to establish Caesar as a king ; 
And he shall wear his crown by sea and land. 
In every place, save here in Italy. 

Cas. I know where I will wear this dagger 
then ; 
Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius: 90 
Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most 

strong ; 
Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat : 
Nor stony tower, lior walls of beaten brass. 
Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, 
Can be retentive to the strength of spirit ; 
But life, being weary of these worldly bars, 
Never lacks power to dismiss itself. 
If I know this, know all the world besides, 
That part of tyranny that I do bear 
I can shake off at pleasure. [ Tlmnder still. 
Casca. So can I : 100 

So every bondman in his own hand bears 
Tiie power to cancel his captivity. 

Cas. And why should Cipsar be a tyrant 
then ? 
Poor man ! I know he would not be a wolf. 
But that he sees the Romans are but sheep : 
He were no lion, were not Romans hinds. 
Those that with haste will make a mighty fire 
Begin it with weak straws : what trash is 

Rome, 
iriiat rubbish and what offal, wlien it serves 



624 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



[Act II. 



For the liase matter to illuminate 110 

So vile a thing as Cicsar ! But, O grief, 
Where hast thou led me ? I perhaps speak 

this 
Before a willing bondman ; then I know 
My answer must be made. EUit I am arm'd, 
And dangers iire to me indifferent. 

Casca. You speak to Casca, and to snch a 
man 
Tiiat is no fleering tell-tale. Hold, my hand : 
Be factious for redress of all these griefs, 
And I will set this foot of mine as far 
As who goes farthest. 

Cas. There's a bargain made. 120 

Now know you, Casca, I have moved already 
Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans 
To undergo with me an enterprise 
Of honorable-dangerous consequence ; 
A.nd I do know, by this, they stay for me 
In Pompey's i^orch : for now, this fearful 

niglit, 
There is no stir or walking in the streets ; 
And the complexion of the element 
Tn favor's like the work we have in hand, 
Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible. 130 

Casca. Stand close awhile, for here comes 
one in haste. 

Cas. 'Tis Cinna ; I do know him by his 
gait ; 
He is a friend. 

Enter Cinna. 

Cinna, where haste you so ? 
Cin. To find out you. Who's that ? Metel- 

lus Cimber ? 
Cas. No, it is Casca ; one incorporate 
To our attemijts. Am I not stay'd for, Cinna ? 
Cin. I am glad on 't. What a fearful night 
is this ! [sights. 

There's two or three of us have seen strange 
Cas. Am I not stay'd for ? tell me. 
Cin Yes, you are. 

O Cassius, if you could 140 

But win the noble Brutus to our party — 
Cas. Be you content : good Cinna, take 
this paper, 
And look you lay it in the praetor's chair. 
Where Brutus may but find it ; and throw 

this 
In at his window ; set this up with wax 
Upon old Brutus' statue : all this done. 
Repair to Pompey's porch, where j'ou shall 

find us. 
Is Decius Brutus and Ti-ebonius there ? 
Cin. All but Metellus Cimber ; and he's 
gone 149 

To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie. 
And so bestow these papers as you bade me. 
Cas. That done, repair to Pompey's theatre. 
[Exit Cinna. 
Come, Casca, you and I Avill yet ere day 
See Brutus at his house : three parts of him 
Is ours already, and the man entire 
Upon the next encounter yields him ours. 
Casca. O, he sits high in all the peojile's 
hearts : 



And that which would appear offence in us, 
His countenance, like richest alchemy, 
AVill change to virtue and to worthiness. 160 
Cas. Him and his wortli and our great need 
of him 
You have right well conceited. Let ns go, 
For it is after midnight ; and ere diiy 
We will awake him and be sure of him. 

[Exeimt. 



Scene I. 



ACT II. 
Rome. Brutus's orchard. 
Enter Bkotus. 



Brii. What, Lucius, ho ! 
I cannot, by the progress of the stars. 
Give guess how near to day. Lucius, I say ! 
I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. 
When, Lucius, when ? awake, I say ! what, 
Lucius ! 

Enter Luciis. 
Liic. .Call'd you, my lord ? 
Bni. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius : 
When it is lighted, come and call me here. 
Lite. 1 will, my lord. [Exit. 

Bru. It must be by his death : and for my 
])art, 
I know no personal cause to spurn at him, 11 
But for the general. He would be crown'd : 
llovv that might change his nature, there's the 

question. 
It is the bright day that brings forth the adder; 
And that craves wary walking. Crown him ? 

—that ;— 
And then, I grant, we put a sting in him, 
That at his will he may do danger with. 
The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins 
Remorse from power : and, to speak truth of 
Caesar, 19 

I have not known when his affections sway'd 
More than his reason. But 'tis a common 

proof. 
That lowliness is young ambition's ladder. 
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face ; 
But when he once attains the upmost round. 
He then unto the ladder turns his back, 
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees 
By which he did ascend. So Caesar may. 
Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the 

quarrel 
Will bear no color for the thing he is, 
Fashion it thus ; that what he is, augmented. 
Would run to these and these extremities : 31 
And therefore think him as a serpent's egg 
Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mis- 
chievous. 
And kill him in the shell. 

Re-enter Lucius. 
Luc. The taper burnetii in j^our closet, sir. 
Searching the window for a flint, I found 
This ])aper, thus seal'd up ; and, I am sure. 
It did not lie there when I went to bed. 

\_Gives him the letter. 



Scene i.] 



JULWS C.^SAR. 



62d 



Bni. Get you to bed again ; it is not day. 
Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March ? 40 

Lnc- I know not, sir. 

lira. Look in the calendar, and bring me 
word. 

Luc. I will, sir. [Exit. 

liru. The exhalations wliizzing in the air 
Give .so much light that I may reail by them. 

[Opens the letter and 7-e(uls. 
* Brutus, thou sleep'.st : awake, and see thy- 
self. 
Shall Uome, &c. Speak, strike, redress 1 
Brutus, thou sleep'st : aw"ke ! ' 
Such instigations have been often dropp'd 
Where I have took tliem up. 50 

' Sliall Rome, &c.' Thus must I piece it out : 
Shall Rome stand under one man's awe ? 

What, Rome ? 
My ancestors did from the streets of Rome 
The Tarquiu drive, when he was call'd a king. 
' Si)eak, strike, redress ! ' .\m I entreated 
To speak and strike ? O Rome, 1 make thee 

promise : 
If the redress will follow, thou recelvest 
Thy full i)etition at the hand of Brutus ! 

He-enter Lucius. 

Luc. Sir, March is wasted fourteen days. 
[ Knock in;/ witlun. 

Bru. 'Tis good. Go to the gate ; somebody 
knocks. [E.rit Lucius. (fO 

Since Cassius first did whet me against Ctesar, 
I have not slept. 

Between the acting of a dreadful tiling 
And the first motion, all the interim is 
Like a ph;uitasma. or a hideous dream : 
The Genius and the mortal instruments 
Are then in council ; and the stiiteof man, 
Like to a little kingdom, suffers then 
The nature of an insurrection. 

Re-enter Lucius. 

Luc, Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the 
door, 
Who doth desire to see you. 

Bru. Is he alone ? 71 

Luc. No, sir, there are more with him. 

Bru. Do you know them ? 

Luc. No, sir; their hats are pi uck'd about 
their ears, 
And half their faces buried in their cloaks, 
That by no means I may discover them 
By any mark of favor. 

Bru. Let 'em enter. [Exit lAicius. 

They are the faction. conspiracy, 
Shamest thou to show thy dangerous brow By 

night, 
>rhen evils are most free ? 0, then by day 
Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough' 80 
To mask tliy monstrous vil^age ? Seek none, 

conspiracy ; 
Hide it in smiles and affability : 
For if thou path, thy native semblance on, 
Not Krebus itself were dim enough 
To bide thee from prevention. 



Enter the. conspirators, Cassius, Casca, 
Decius, Cinka, Metkllus CiMBEK, and 
Tkebonius. 

Cas. I think we are too bold upon your 
rest : 
Good morrow, Brutus ; do •we trouble you ? 
Bru. I have been up this hour, awake .-.ll 
night. 
Know i tliese men that come along with j'ou 7 
Cas. Yes, every man of them, and no man 
here 'jO 

But honors you ; and every one doth wish 
You had but tliat opinion of yourself 
Which every noble Roman bears of you. 
This is Trebonius. 
Bru. He is welcome hither. 

Cas. This, Decius Brutus. 
Bru. He is welcome too 

Cas. This, Casca ; this, Cinna ; and this, 

Metellus Cimber. 
Bnt. They are all welcome. 
What watchful cares do interpose themselves 
Betwixt your eyes and night ? 

Cas. Shall 1 entreat a word ? 100 

[Brutus and Cassi7is tcJii.'^jwr. 

Dec. Here lies the east : doth not the day 

break here ? 
Casca. No. 

Cin. 0, pardon, sir, it doth ; and j-ou gray 
lines 
That fret the clouds are messengers of day. 
Casca. You shall confess that you are both 
deceived. 
Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises. 
Which is a great way growing on the south, 
^V'eighing the youthful season of the year. 
Some two months hence up higher toward the 

north 
He first presents his fire ; and the high east 
Stands, as the Capitol, directlj'^ here. Ill 

Bru. Give me your hands all over, one by 

one. 
Cas. And let us swear our resolution. 
Bru. No, not an oath : if not the face of 
men. 
The suiferance of our souls, the time's abuse, — 
If these l>e moti\es weak, break olT betimes, 
And every man hence to his idle bed ; 
So let high-sighted tyranny range on. 
Till each man drop by lottery. But if these. 
As I am sure tliey do^ bear fire enough 120 
To kindle cowards and to steel with valor 
The melting spirits of women, then, country- 
men, 
What need we any spur but our own cause. 
To ]n-ick us to redress ? what other bond 
Than secret Romans, that have spoke the 

word. 
And will not palter ? and what other oath 
Than honest v to honest v euLtaged, 
That this shall be, or we will fall for it ? 
Swear jniests and cowards and men cautelous, 
Old feeble carrions and such suffering souls 
That welcome wrongs ; unto bad causes swear 
Such creatures as men doubt ; but do not 
etain 

40 



m 



JVLWS C^SAk 



tkcb iV 



The even virtue of our enterprise, 

Nor tlie insuppresaive mettle of our spirits, 

To think that or our cause or our performance 

Did need an oath ; when every drop of blood 

That ev ery Kouian bears, and nobly bears 

la guilty t)f a several bastardy. 

If ne do break the smallest particle 

Of any promise that hath pass'd from him. 

Cas. But what of Cicero ? shall we sound 
him ? 141 

I think he will stand very strong with us. 

Casca. Let us not leave him out. 

Cin. No, by no means. 

Met. 0, let us have him, for his silver hairs^s 
Will purchase us a good opinion 
And buy men's voices to commend our deeds : 
It shall be said, his judgment ruled our hands; 
Our youths and wildness shall no whit appear. 
But all be buried in his gravity. 

Bru. 0, name him not : let us not break 
with him ; 150 

For he will never follow any thing 
That other men begin. 

Cas. Then leave him out. 

Casca. Indeed he is not fit. 

Dec. Shall no man else be touch'd but only 
Caesar ? 

Cas. Decius, well urged : I think it is not 
meet, 
Mark Antony, so well beloved of Cresar, 
Should outlive Ca;sar : we shall fiud of him 
A shrewd contriver ; and, you know, his 

means, 
If he improve them, may well stretch so far 
As to annoy us all : which to prevent, 160 

Let Antony and Caesar fall togather. 

Bni. Our course will seem too bloody, Caius 
Cassius, 
To cut the head off and then hack the limbs, 
Like wrath in death and envy afterwards ; 
For Antony is but a limb of Cjesar : 
Let us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius. 
We all stand up against the spirit of Ctesar ; 
And in the spirit of men there is no blood : 
O, that we then could come by Cre.sar's spirit, 
And not dismember CiBsar ! 'But, alas, 170 
Caesar must bleed for it ! And, gentle friends. 
Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully ; 
Let's carve liim as a dish lit for the gods. 
Not hew liira as a carcass fit for hounds : 
And let our hearts, as subtle masters do. 
Stir up their servants to an act of rage. 
And after seem to chide 'em. This shall make 
Our purpose necessary and not envious : 
Which so appearing to the common eyes. 
We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers. 180 
And for Mark Antony, think not of him ; 
For he can do no more than C;esar's arm 
When Ciesar's head is off. 

Cas. Yet I fear him ; 

For in the ingrafted love he bears to Cjesar — 

Bru. Alas, good Cassius, do not think of 
him : 
If he love C-esar, all that he can do 
la to himself, take thought and die for Caesar: 
And that were much he should 5 for he is giveu 



To sports, to wildness and much company. 

Treb. There is no fear in him ; let him not 
die ; 190 

For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter. 
[Clock st7nkes. 

Bi-u. Peace ! count the clock. 

Cas. The clock hath stricken three. 

Treb. 'Tis time to part. 

Cas. But it is doubtful yet. 

Whether Caesar will come forth to-day, or no; 
For he is superstitious grown of late, 
Quite from the main opinion he held once 
Of fantasy, of dreams and ceremonies: 
It may be, these apparent prodigies. 
The unaccustom'd terror of this night, 
And the persuasion of his augiirers, 200 

May hold him from the Capitol to-daj-. 

Dec. Never fear that: it he be so resoJved, 
I can o'ersway him ; for he loves to hear 
That unicorns may be betray'd with trees. 
And bears with glasses, elephants with holes. 
Lions with toils and men with flatterers; 
But when I tell him he hates flatterers. 
He says he does, being then most flattered. 
Let me work ; 

For I can give his humor the true bent, 2l0 
And [ \\ill bring him to the Capitol. 

Cas. Nay,we will all of us be there to fetch 
him. 

Bi'u. By the eighth hour: is that the utter- 
most ? 

Cin. Be that the uttermost, and fail not 
then. 

Met. Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard, 
Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey: 
I wonder none of you have thought of him. 

Bru. Now, good Metellus, goalongbyhim: 
He loves me well, and I have givenhim rea- 
sons ; 
Send him but hither, and I'll fashion him. 220 

Cas. The morning comes upon ' s : we'll 
leave you, Brutus. 
And, friends, disperse yourselves ; but all re- 
member 
What you have said, and show yourselves true 
Romans. [ril.v; 

Bru. Good gentlemen, look fresh and mer- 
Let not our looks put on our purposes, 
But bear it as our Roman actors do. 
With untired spirits und formal constancy : 
And so good morrow to you every one. 

[Exevnt all b>'t Brutus. 
Boy ! Lucius ! Fast asleep? It is no matter; 
Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber: 230 
Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies. 
Which busy care draws in the brains of men 
Therefore thou sleep'st so sound. 

Enter Portia. 

For. Brutus, my lord I 

Bru. Portia, what mean you ? wherefore 
rise you now ? 
It is not for your health thus to commit 
Your weak condition to the raw cold morning. 
Por. Nor for yours neither- You've un- 
gently, Brutus, 




Brutus and Portia 



Julius C.hsak, p. 626 



ScENfi II.] 



JULIUS CuESAR. 



627 



Stole from my bed : and yesternight, at sup- 
per, 
You suddenly arose, and walk'd about, 23ii 
Musing and siehing, with your arms across, 
And wiien I ask'd you what the matter was, 
You stiired upon me with ungentle looks ; 
I urged you further ; then you scratch'd your 

head. 
And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot ; 
Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not. 
But, with an angry wafture of your hand-, 
Gave sign for me to leave you : so I did ; 
Fearing to strengthen that impatience 
Which seem'd too much enkindled, and withal 
Hoping it was but an effect of humor, 250 
Which sometime hath his hour with every 

man. 
It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep. 
And could it work so much upon your shape 
As it hath much prevail'd on your condition, 
I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my 

lord. 
Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. 

Brn. I am not well in health, and that is 
all. 

Por. Brutus is wise, and, were he not in 
health. 
He would embrace the means to come by it. 

Bru. Why, so I do. Good Portia, go to 
bed. 260 

Por. Is Brutus sick ? and is it physical 
To walk unbraced and suck up the liumors 
Of the dank morning ? What, is Brutus sick, 
And will he steal out of his wholesome bed, 
To dare the vile contagion of the night 
And tempt the rheumy and impurged air 
To add unto his sickness ? No, my Brutus ; 
You have some sick offence within your mind. 
Which, by the right and virtue of my place, 
I ought to know of : and, upon my knees, 270 
I charm you, by my once-commended beauty, 
By all your vows of love and that great vow 
Which did incorporate and make us one, 
That you unfold to me, yourself, your half. 
Why you are heavy, and what men to-night 
Have had resort to you : for here have been 
Some six or seven, who did hide their faces 
Even from darkness. 

Bru. Kneel not, gentle Portia. 

Por. I should not need, if you were gentle 
Brutus. 
Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, 
Is it excepted I should know no secrets 281 
That appertain to you ? Am I yourself 
But, as it were, in sort or limitation. 
To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed, 
And talk to you sometimes ? Dwell I but in 

the suburbs 
Of your good pleasure ? If it be no more, 
Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. 

Bru. You are my true and honorable wife. 
As dear to me as are the ruddy drops 
That visit my sad heart. 290 

Por. If this were true, then should I know 
this seer 't, 
I grant I am a woman ; but withal 



A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife : 
I grant I am a woman ; but withal 
A woman well-reputed, Cato's daughter. 
Think you I am no stronger than my sex, 
Being so father d and so husbanded ? 
Tell ine your counsels, I will not disclose 'em: 
I have made strong proof of my constancy, 
Giving myself a voluntary wound 300 

Here, in the thigh : can I bear that with pa- 
tience. 
And not my husband's secrets ? 

Bru. ye gods. 

Render me worthy of this noble wile ! 

[Knocking within. 
Hark, hark ! one knocks : tortia, go in awhile ; 
And by and by thy bosom shall partake 
The seci'ets of my heart. 
All my engagements I will construe to thee, 
All the charactery of my sad brows : 
Leave me with haste. [E.rit Portia.] Lucius, 
who 's that knocks ? 

Re-enter Lucius v:i(h Ligarius. 

Luc. He is a sick man that would speaK 

with you. 310 

Bru. Gains Ligarius, that Metellus spake of. 

Boy, stand aside. Cains Ligarius ! how? 

Li{/. Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble 

tongue. 
Bru. O, what a time have you chose out, 
brave Cains, 
To wear a kerchief ! Would you were not 
sick ! 
Li;/. I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand 
Any exploit worthj^ the name of honor. 
Bru. Such an exploit have I in hand, Li- 
garius, 
Had you a healthful ear to hear of it. 
Lie/. By all the gods that Remans bow be- 
fore, 320 
I here discard my sickness ! Soul of Rome ! 
Brave son, derived from honorable loins ! 
Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjured up 
My mortified spirit. Now bid me run, 
rAnd I will strive with things impossible ; 
Yea, get the better of them. What's to do ? 
Bru. A piece of work that will make sick 

men whole. 
Lig. But are not some whole that we must 

make sick ? 
Bru. That must we also. What it is, my 
Caius, 
T shall unfold to thee, as we are going 330 
To whom it must be done. 

Lig. Set on your foot, 

And with a heari !ie\v-fired I follow you. 
To do I know not wha*: : but it sufflceth 
That Brutus leads me rn. 
Bru, Follow me, then. [Exeu7it. 

Scene II. Ccesar's house. 

Thunder and lightning. Enter Cjesar, in his 

night-gown. 

Cees. Nor heavCn nor earth have been a* 
peace to-nigh : 



628 



JULIUS aSSAR. 



[Act It 



Tluice liiith Calpiirnia hi her sleep cried out, 
' Help, ho I tliey murder Caesar I ' Who's with- 
in ? 

Enter a Servant. 
hiei-r. Jly lord ? 

CVp.s. Go bid 'the priests do present sacrifice 
And bring me their (ipinions of success. 
Serv. 1 will, my lord. ]_F,x)t. 

Elder Calpurnia. 
C'uL What mean yon, Cresar ? think you 
to wjilk forth ? 
You shall not stir out of your house to-day. 
C(KS. C;esar shall forth : the tilings that 
threaten' d me 10 

Ne'er look'd but on my back ; when they shall 

see 
The face of Cicsar, they are vanished. 

(J<d. Ciesar, I never stood on ceremonies, 
Yet now they fright me. Tliere is one within. 
Besides the things that we have heard and 

seen. 
Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch. 
A lioness hath whelped in the streets ; 
And graves have yawn'd, and yielded up their 

dead ; 
Fierce fiery warriors fought upon tl>e clouds. 
In ranks and squadrons and right form of war, 
Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol ; 21 
The noise of battle hurtled in the air. 
Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan, 
And gliosts did .shriek and squeal about the 

.streets. 
O Ciesar ! these things are beyond all use, 
And I do fear them. 

C(MS. What can be avoided 

Wliose end is ]nirposed by the mighty gods ? 
Yet Cifsar shall go forth; for tliese predictions 
Are to the world in general as to C.'esar. 

Cal. When beggars die, there are no comets 
seen ; 30 

I'he heavens themselves blaze fortli the death 
of princes. 
Cces. Cowards die many times before their 
deaths ; 
The valiant never taste of death but once. 
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, 
It seems to me most strange that men should 

fear ; 
Seeing that death, a necessary end, 
Will come when it will come. 

Re-enter Servant. 

What say the augurers ? 
Sew. They would not have you to stir forth 
to-day. 
Plucking the entrails of an offering forth, 
They could not find a heart within tlie beast. 
Cms. The gods do this in shame of coward- 
ice : 41 
Caesar should be a beast without a heart, 
If lie should stay at home to-day for fear. 
No, Civsnr shall not : danger knows full well 
That Cfesar is more dangerous than he : 
We are two lions litter'd in one day, 
Aud I the elder acd more terrible : 



And Caesar shall go forth. 

Cal. Alas, my lord, 

Your wisdom is consumed in confidence. 
Do not go forth to-day : call it my fear 50 

That keeps you in the house, and not your 

own. 
We'll send Mark Antony to tlie senate-house: 
And he shall say you are not well to-day: 
Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this. 

des. ISIark Antony shall say 1 am not well ; 
And, for thy humor, I will stay at home. 

Enter Decius. 

Here's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so. 

Dec. Citsar, all hail ! good morrow, worthy 
Caesar : 
I come to fetch you to the senate-house. 

Cees. And you are come in very happy 
time, " 60 

To bear my greeting to the senators 
And tell them that I will not come to-day: 
Cannot, is false, and that I dare not, falser : 
I will not come to-day: tell them so, Decius. 

Cal. Say he is sick. 

Cuis. Shall Caesar send a lie ? 

Have I in conquest stretch'd mine arm so far, 
To be afraid to tell gr;iybeards the truth ? 
Decius, go tell them Citsar will not come. 

Dec. Most mighty C:esar, let me know some 
cause. 
Lest I be laugh'd at when I tell them so. 70 

CcBS. The cause is in my will : I will not 
come ; 
That is enough to satisfy the senate. 
But for your private satisfaction. 
Because I love you, I will let you know : 
Calpurnia here, my wife, stays me at home : 
She dreamt to-nigiit she .saw my statua, 
Which, like a fountain with an hundred spouts. 
LMd run pure blood: and many lusty Romans 
Came smiling, and did bathe their hands in it: 
And these does she apply for warnings, and 
portents, 80 

And evils imminent ; and on her knee 
Hath begg'd tliat I will stay at home to-day. 

Dec. This dream is all amiss iiiteri>reted ; 
It was a vision fair and fortunate : 
Your statue spouting blood in many pipes, 
In which so many smiling Romans bathed, 
Signifies that from you great Rome .shall suck 
Reviving blood, and that great men shall press 
For tinctures, stains, relics and cognizance. 
This by Calpurnia's dream is signified. 9G 

C(je.s. And tliis way have j'ou well ex- 
pounded it. 

Dec. I have, when you have heard what I 
can say : 
And know it now : the senate have concluded 
To give this day a crown to mighty Ciesar. 
If you shall send them word you will not come, 
Their minds may change. Besides, it were a 

mock 
Apt to be render'd, for some one to say 
' Break up the senate till another time, 
When Caesar's wife shall meet with better 
dreams.' 



Scene ir.J 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



629 



If Caesar hide himself, shall they not whisper 
' Lo, Ciesar is afraid ' ? 101 

Pardon me, Citsar ; ft)r vny dear dear love 
To your proceeding bids me tell you this ; 
Aiid reason to my love is liable. 

Cms. How foolish do your fears seem now, 
Calpuruia ! 
I am ashamed I did yield to them. 
Give me my robe, for I will go. 
Enter PuBLius, Brutcs, Lioarius, Metel- 

Lus, Casca, Tkekonu's, and Cinna. 
And look where Piiblius is come to fetch me. 
I'ub. Good morrow, Caesar 
CiKS. Welcome, Publius. 

What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too ? 
Good morrow, Casca. Caius Ligarius, 111 
Ca'sar was ne'er so much your enemy 
As that same ague which hath made you lean. 
What is 't o'clock ? 
Bru. Csesar, 'tis strucken eight. 

C'ccs. I thank you for your pains and 
courtesy. 

Enter Antony. 
See! Antony, that revels long o' nights, 
Is notwithstanding up. Good morrow, Antony. 
Ant. So to most noble C;esar. 
Ctes. Bid them prepare within; 

I am to blame to be thus waited for. 
Now, Cinna: now, Metellus: what, Trebonius ! 
I have an hour's talk in store for you ; 
Remember that you call on me to-day : 
Be near me, that I may remember you. 

Treh. C;i-sar, I wilt : [Aside] and so near 
will I be, 
That your best friends shall wish I had been 
further. 
CvRS. Good friends, go in, and taste some 
■wine with me ; [gether. 

And we, like friends, will straightway go to- 
Bru. [Aside] That every like is not the 
same, (J Ca-sar, 
The heart of Brutus yearns to think upon ! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. A street near the Capitol. 

Enter Artemidorus, readimi a paper. 

Art. ' Cw.iar, beware of Brutus ; take heed 
of Ca.ssius ; come not near Casca; have an eye 
to Cinna ; trust not Trebonius : mark well 
Metellus Cimber ; Decius Brutus loves thee 
not : thou hast wronged Caius Ligarius. There 
is but one mind in all these men, and it is bent 
against Ca-sar. If thou beest not immortal, 
look about you : security gives way to con- 
spiracy. The mighty gods defend thee ! Thy 
lover, 

' Artemidorus.' 
Here will I stand till Caesar pass along, 11 

And as a suitor will I give him thi.s. 
My hejirt laments that virtue cannot live 
Out of the teeth of emulation. 
If thou read this, O Ca-sar, thou maystlive ; 
If not, the Fates with traitors do contrive. 

iExit. 



Scene IV. Another part of the tame street, 
before the house of Brutus. 

Enter Pobtia and Lucius. 

Por. I prithee, boy, run to the senate-house; 
Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone ; 
Why dost thou stay ? 
Luc. To know my errand, madana. 

Por. I would have had thee there, and here 
again, 
Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do 
there. 

constancy, be strong upon my side, 

Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and 
tongue ! 

1 have a man's mind, but a woman's might. 
How hard it is for women to keep counsel ! 
Art thou here yet ? 

Luc. Madam, what should I do ? 10 

Run to the Capitol, and nothing else ? 
And so return to you, and nothing else ? 

Por. Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord 
look well, 
For he went sickly forth : and take good note 
What Ca-sar doth, what suitors press to him. 
Hark, boy ! what noise is that ? 

Luc. i hear none, madam. 

Por. Prithee, listen well ; 

I heard a bustling rumor, like a fray, 
And the wind brings it from the Capitol. 

Luc. Sooth, madam, I hear nothing. 20 

E7iter the Soothsayer. 
Por. Come hither, fellow : w'hich way hast 

thou been ? 
Sooth. At mine own house, good lady. 
Por. What is't o'clock ? 
Sooth. About the ninth hour, lady. 

Por. Is Caesar yet gone to the Capitol ? 
Sooth. Madam, not yet : I go to take my 
•stand. 
To see him pass on to the Capitol. 
Por. Thou hast some suit to Ca-sar, hast thou 

not? 
Sooth. That I have, lady : if it will please 
Caesar 
To be so good to Caesar as to hear me, 
I shall beseech him to befriend himself. 30 
Por. Why, kuow'st thou any harm's in- 
tended towards him ? 
Sooth. None that I know will be, mtuh that 
1 fear may chance. [row : 

Good morrow to you. Here the street is nar- 
The throng that follows Ca-sar at the heels, 
Of senators, oi pr;itors, common suitors, 
Will crowd a feeble man almost to death : 
I'll get me to a place more void, and there 
Speak to great Ca-sar as he comes along. 

[Exit. 
Por. I must go in. Ay me, how weak a 
thing 
The heart of woman is ! Brutus, 40 

The lieavens speed thee in thine enterprise ! 
Sure, the boy lieard me : Brutus hath a suit 
That Casar will not grant. 0, I grow faint 
Run. Lucius, and cojumeud me to my lord; 



630 



JULIUS CyESAR. 



[Act hi. 



Say I am merry : come to me again, 
Aud briug me word what he doth say to thee. 
[Exe^ait severally. 



ACT III. 



Scene I. Rome. Before the Capitol ; the 
Senate sitting above. 

A crowd of people ; among them, Aktemidokus 
and the Soothsayer. Flourish. Enter C-esak, 
Brutus, Cassius, Casca, Decius, Metel- 
Lus, Tkebonius, Cinna, Antony, Lepidus, 
PopiLius, PuBLius, and others. 
Cais. [To the SootJisaijer] The ides of March 

are come. 
Sooth. Ay, CiBsar ; but not gone. 
Art. Hail, Ctesar ! read this schedule. 
Dec. Trebonius doth desire you to o'er- 
read, 
At your best leisure, this his humble suit. 
Art. Ciesar, read mine first ; for mine's 
a suit 
That touches Caesar nearer : read it, great 
Ciesar. 
CoEs. What touches us ourself shall be last 

served. 
Art. Delay not, Csesar ; read it instantly, 
Cces. What, is the fellow mad ? 
Fub. Sirrah, give place. 10 

Cas. What, urge you your petitions in the 
street ? 
Come to the Capitol. 
Cesar goes up to the Senate-House, the rest 

folloioing. 
Pop. T wish your enterprise to-day may 

thrive. 
Cas. What enterprise, Popilius ? 
Pop. Fare you well. 

[Advances to CcBsar. 
Bra. What said Popilius Lena ? 
Cas. He wish'd to day our enterprise might 
thrive. 
I fear our purpose is discovered. 
Bru. Look, how he makes to Csesar ; mark 

him. 
Cas. Casca, be sudden, for we fear preven- 
tion. 
Brutr.s, what shall be done ? If this be known, 
Cassius or CiBsar never shall turn back, 21 
For I will slay myself. 

Bru. Cassius, be constant : 

Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes ; 
For, look, he smiles, and Ciesar doth not change. 
Cas. Trebonius knows his time ; for, look 
you, Brutus. 
He draws Mark Antony out of the wa}^ 

[Exeunt Antony and Trebonius. 
Dec. Where is Metellus Cimber ? Let liim 
go, 
And presently prefer his suit to Csesar. 
Bru. He is address'd ; press near and 

second him. 
Cin, Casca, vou are the first that rears 
your hand. "jO 



C(P.s. Are we all ready ? What is now 
amiss 
That Cajsar aud his senate must redress ? 
Met. Most high, most mighty, and most 
puissant Citsar, 
Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat 
An humble heart, — [Kneeling. 

Cces. I must prevent thee, Cimber. 

These couchiugs aud these lowly courtesies 
Might tire the blood of ordinary men, 
And turn pre-ordinance and first decree 
Into the law of children. Be not fond. 
To think tliat C;esar bears such rebel blood 40 
That will be thaw'd from the true quality 
AVith that which melteth fools ; 1 mean, sweet 

words. 
Low-crooked court'sies and base spaniel- 
fawning 
Thy brother by decree is banished : 
If thou dost bend and jiray and fawn for him, 
I spurn thee like a cur out of my way. 
Know, Cicsar doth not wrong, nor without 

cause 
Will he be satisfied. 
Met. Is there no voice more worthy than 
my own 
To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear 
For the repealing of my banish'd brother ? 51 
Bru. I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, 
Cicsar ; 
Desiring thee that Publius Cimber may 
Have an immediate freedom of repeal. 
Cies. What, Brutus ! 

Gas. Pardon, Caisar ; Caesar, pardon: 

As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall, 
To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber. 

Cces. I could be well moved, if I were as you: 
If I could pray to move, prayers would \aove 

me : 
But I am constant as the northern star, 60 
Of whose true-fix'd and resting quality 
There is no fellow in the firmament. 
The skies are painted with unuumber'd sparks, 
They are all fire and every one doth shine, 
But there's but one in all doth hold his place: 
So in tlie world ; 'tis furnish'd well with men, 
Aud men are flesh and blood, and apprehen- 
sive ; 
Yet in the number I do know but one 
That unassailable holds on his rank, 
Uushaked of motion : and that I am he, 70 
Let me a little show it, even in this ; 
That I was constant Cimber should be ban- 

isli'd. 
And constant do remain to keep him so. 
Cin. O Ciiesar, — 

Cces. Hence ! wilt thou lift up Olympus? 
Dec. Great Ciesar, — 

Cce.s. Doth not Brutus bootless kneel ? 

Casca. Speak, hands, for me ! 

[Casca first, then the other Conspii-ulor.^ 
and Marcus Brutus stab Ccesar. 
Cces. Et tu, Brute ! Then fall, Csesar. 

[Dies. 
Cin. Liberty ! Freedom ! Tyranny 18 
4ea(i I 



Scene i.] 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



631 



Run hence, ijroclaim, cry it .about tlie streets. 
Cus. Some to the common juilpits, and cry 
out «0 

' Libertv, freedom, and enfranchisement !' 

lint. People ami senators, be not affriglited ; 
Fly not ; stand still : amhilioirs debt is piiid. 
Cusca. Go to the puli)it, Hrntus. 
/;,'(•. And Cassius too. 

Bru. Where's Publius ? 
Cin. Here, quite confounded with this 

nuitiny. 
Met. Stand fast together, lest some friend 
of Ca'sar's 
Should chance — 
lira. Talk not of st;uiding. Publius, good 
cheer ; 
There is no harm intended to your person, IK) 
Nor to no Roman else : so tell" them, Publius 
C((.s-. And leave us, Publius , le.stthat the 
people, [chief. 

Rushing on us, should do your age some mis- 
Bru. Do so : and let 'no man abide this 
deed. 
But we the doers. 

Re-enter Trekonius. 
Cus. Where is Antony ? 

Trc. Fled to his house amazed : 
Men, wives and children stare, cry out and 

run 
As it were doomsday. 

Unt. Fates, we will know your pleasures : 
That we shall die, we know ; 'tis but the time 
And drawing days out, tliat men stand upon. 
(.\:s. NVliy, he that cuts off twenty years of 
life 101 

Cuts off so many years of fearing death. 
Bni. Grant that, and then is death a bene- 
fit : 
So are we C;esar's friends, that have abridged 
His time of fearing deatli. Stoop, Romans, 

stoop, 
And let us bathe our hands in Csesar's blood 
Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords : 
Then walk we forth, even to the market-place. 
And, waving our red weajwns o'er our heads, 
Let's all cry ' Peace, freedom and liberty ! ' 
Cati. Stoop, then, and wash. How many 
ages hence 111 

Shall this our lofty scene be acted over 
111 states unborn and accents yet unknown ! 
Urn. Hi)\v many times shall Ca-.-iar bleed 
in sport, 
That now (»n Pomi)ey's basis lies along 
No worthier than the dust ! 

<\is. So oft as that shall be. 

So often shall the knot of us be call'd 
The men that gave their country liberty. 
Jke. What, shall we forth ? 
CV/.5. Ay, every man away : 

Brutus shall lead ; and we will grace his heels 
With the most boldest and best hearts of 
Rome. 121 

Enter a Servant. 
Bru. Soft ! who comes Uere ? A ffieod of 
Antony's. 



Serv. Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me 
kneel : 
Thus did Mark .\ntony bid me fall down ; 
And, being jirostrate, thus he bade me say : 
IJrutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest ; 
C;esar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving : 
Say I love Brutus, and I honor him ; 
Say I fear'd C:osar, honor'd him and loved 

him. 
If Brutus will vonclusafe that Antony 130 

May safely come to him, and be resolved 
How Ca-sarhath deserved to lie in death, 
Maru Antony shall not love Cjesar dead 
So well as Brutus living ; but will follow 
The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus 
Through the hazards of this untrod state 
With all true faith. So says my master An- 
tony. 
Bru. Thy master is a wise and valiant Ro- 
man ; 
I never thought him worse. 
Tell him, so please him come unto this place. 
He shall be satisfied ; and, by my honor, 141 
Depart untouch' d. 
Serv. I'll fetch him presently. [Exit. 

Bru. I know that we shall have him well 

to friend. 
Cas. I wish we may : but yet have I a 
mind 
That fears him much ; and my misgiving 

still 
Falls shrewdly to the purjiose. 
Bru. But here comes Antony. 

Re-enter Antony. 

Welcome, Mark Antony. 
Ant. mighty Caesar ! dost thou lie so 

low? 
Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, 
Shrunk to this little measure ? Fare thee well. 
I know not, gentlemen, what you intend, 151 
Who else must be let blood, who else is rank : 
If I myself, there is no hour so fit 
As Caesar's death hour, nor no instrument 
Of half that worth as those your swords, made 

rich 
With the most noble blood of all this world. 
I do beseech ve, if you bear me hard. 
Now, whilst "your purpled hands do reek and 

smoke, 
Fulfil vour pleasure. Live a thousand years, 
I shaU'not find myself so apt to die : 160 

No place will please me so, no mean of death, 
As here by Cie.sar, and by you cut off. 
The choice and master spirit^ of this age. 

Bru. O Antonv, beg not your death of us. 
Though now we"^ must appear bloody and 

cruel, 
As, by our hands and this our present act. 
You s'ee we do, vet see you but our hands 
And this the bleeding business they have 

done : 
Our hearts you see not ; they are pitiful ; 
And pitv to" the general wrong of Rome — 170 
As fire drives out fire, so pity pity— 
Hatb done this deed on Cses^r. For yonj part, 



632 



JULIUS CJESAR. 



[Act III. 



To you our swords have leaden points, Mark 

Antony : 
tOur arms, in strengtli of malice, and our 

hearts 
Of brothers' temiier, do receive you in 
With all kind love, good thoughts, and rever- 
ence. 
Cas. Your voice shall be as strong as any 

man's 
In the disposing of new dignities. 

Bru. Only be patient till we have appeased 
The multitude, beside theuiselves with fear, 
And then we will deliver you the cause, 181 
Why I, that did love Ctesar when I struck him. 
Have thus proceeded 

Ant. I doubt not of your wisdom. 

Let each man render me his bloody hand : 
First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you ; 
Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand ; 
Now, Deeius Brutus, yours : now yours, Me- 

tellus ; 
Yours, Cinna ; and, my valiant Casca, yours ; 
Though last, not least in love, yours, good 

Trebonius. 
Gentlemen all,— alas, what shall I say ? 190 
My credit now stands on such slippery ground, 
That one of two bad ways you must conceit 

me, 
Either a coward or a flatterer. 
That I did love thee, Ca'sar, 0, 'tis true : 
If tlieu thy spirit look upon us now. 
Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death. 
To see thy Antony making his peace, 
Shaking the bloody lingers of thy foes. 
Most noble ! in the presence of thy corse ? 
Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds, 200 
Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy 

blood. 
It would become me better than to close 
In terms of friendship with thine enemies. 
Pardon me, .lulius ! Here wast thou bay'd, 

brave hart ; 
Here didst thou fall ; and here thy hunters 

stand, 
Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson'dinthylethe. 
O world, thou wast the forest to this hart ; 
And this, indeed, world, the heart of thee. 
How like a deer, strucken by many princes, 
Dost thou here lie ! 210 

Cas. Mark Antony,^ 
Ant. Pardon me, Caius Cassius : 

Tlie enemies of Ciesar shall say this ; 
Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty. 

(7o.s. I blame you not for praising Csesar so; 

But what comjiact mean you to have with us? 

Will you be prick'd in number of our friends ; 

Or shall we on, and not depend on you ? 

Ant. Therefore I took your hands, but was, 

indeed, 
Sway'd from the point, by looking down on 
C:esar. 219 

Friends am I with you all and love you all. 
Upon thi8hov)e, that you shall give me reasons 
Why and wlierein Ca-sar was dangerous. 

Bru. Or else were this a savage si)ectacle : 
Uur reasons are so full of good regard 



That were you, Antony, the son of Csesar, 
You should be satisfied. 

Ant. Th;it's all I seek : 

And am moreover suitor that I may 
Produce his body to the market-place ; 
And in tlie pulpit, as becomes a friend. 
Speak in the order of his funeral. 230 

Bru. You shall, Mark Antony. 
Cas. Brutus, a Avord with you. 

[Aside to Bru.'] You know not what you do : 

do not consent 
That Antony speak in his funeral : 
Know you liow much the people may be 

moved 
By that which he will utter ? 

Bru. By your pardon ; 

I will myself into the pulpit first. 
And sliow tlie reason of our Ciesar's death : 
What Antony shall speak, I will protest 
He speaks by leave and by permission. 
And that we'are contented Caesar shail 240 
Have all true rites and law f ul ceremonies. 
It shall advantage more than do us wrong. 
Cas. I know not what may fall ; I like it 

not. 
Bru. Mark Antonj', here, take you Caesar's 
body. 
You shall not in your funeral sjieech blame 

us. 
But speak all good you can devise of Caesar, 
And say you do't by our permission ; 
Else shall you not have any .hand at all 
About his funeral : and you shall speak 
lu the same pulpit whereto 1 am going, 250 
After my speecii is ended. 

Ant. Be it so ; 

1 do desire no more. 
Bru. Prepare the body then, and follow us. 
[Exeunt all but Antony. 
Ant. 0, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of 
earth. 
That I am meek and gentle with thes*» butch- 
ers ! 
Thou art tlie ruins of the noblest man 
VThat ever lived in the tide of times. ' 
Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood ! 
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy, — 
Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby 
lips, 2(50 

To beg the voice and utterance of ray tongue — 
A curse shall light upon the tlimbs of men ; 
Domestic fury and fierce civil strife 
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy ; 
Blood and destruction shall be so in use 
And dreadful objects so familiar 
That mothers shall but smile when they be- 
hold 
Their infants quarter'd with the hands of 

war ; 
All pity choked with custom of fell deeds : 
And Csesar's spirit, ranging for revenge, 270 
With Ate by his side come hot from hell. 
Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice 
Cry ' Havoc,' and let slip the dogs of war ; 
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth 
With carrion men, groaning for burial. 



Scene ii.] 



JULIUS CJESAR. 



638 



Enter a Servant. 
Tou serve Octavius Caesar, do you not ? 
IServ. I do, Mark Antony. 
Ant. C'lesar did write for liini to come to 

Rome. 
Serv. He did receive hi.s letters, and is 
coming; 
And bid me say to you by word of mouth — 
O Cae.^ar !— [Seenuj the hodij. 281 

Ant. Tliy heart is big, get tliee apart and 
weep. 
Pa.ssiun, I see, is catcliing ; for mine eyes, 
Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in tliine. 
Began to water. Is thy m:ister coming ? 
kierv. He lies to-niglit witliin seven leagues 

of Itome. 
Ant. Post back with speed, and tell him 
what hath clianced : 
Here is an)()iirning P.ome, a dangerous Rome, 
No Rome of safety for Octavius yet ; 2Si) 

Hie lience, and tell him so. Yet, stay awhile; 
Thou shalt not back till 1 have borne this corse 
Into the market-jjlace : there shall 1 try. 
In my oration, how the people take 
The cruel issue of tliese bloody men ; 
According to the which, thou shalt discourse 
To young Octavius of the state of things. 
Lend me your hand. 

[Ejieiint ivith Ccesar's body. 



^ 



Scene U. The Forum. 



Enter Brutu.s and Cassius, and a thron;/ 

o/ Citizens. 
Citizens. We will be satisfied ; let us be 

satisfied. 
Bru. Then follow me, and give me audi- 
ence, friends. 
Cassias, go you into the other .street, 
And i>art the numbers. 
Those that will hear me speak, let 'em stay 

here ; 
Those that will follow Cassius, go witii him ; 
And i)ublic reasons shall be rendered 
Of Citsar's death. 
First at. I will hear Brutus si)eak. 

Sec. at. I will hear Cassius ; and compare 
their reasons. 
When severally we hear tliem rendered. 10 
[Exit C'rt.s.siws, with some of the Citizens. 
Brvtiis f/ois tnlo the pulpit. 
TJiird at. The noble Brutus is ascended ; 

silence ! 
Brti. Be jtatient till the last. 
Rouians, countrymen, and lovers! hear nic for 
my cau.se, and be silent, that you may hear : 
believe me for mine honor, and h.ave respect 
to mine honor, that you may believe : censure 
me in your wisdom, a-nd awake your senses, 
that you may the better judge. If there be any 
in this asseuibly, any dear friend of Ca-sar's, 
to liim I say, that Brutus' love to Ciesar was 
no less than liis. If then that friend demand 
why Brutus rose against C;esar. this is my 
answer: — Not that I loved Ca-stir less, but tliat 
I loved Rome more. Had you rather Ciesar 



were living and die all slaves, than that Csesar 
Avere dead, to live all free men ? As Caesar 
loved me, I weep for him ; as he was fortu- 
nate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honor 
him : but, as he was ambitious, I slew him. 
There is tears for his love; joy for his fortune; 
honor for his valor; and death for his ambition. 
Who is here so base that would be a bondman? 
If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who 
is here so rude that would not be a Roman ? 
If any, speak; for him have I offejided. Who 
is here so vile that will not love his country? 
If any, speak ; for him have I offended. I pause 
for a reply. 

All. None, Brutus, none. 

Bru. Then none have I offended. I have 
done no more to Ca'sar than you shall do to 
Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled 
in the Capitol; his glory not extenuated, where- 
in he was worthy, nor his offences enforced, 
for which he suffered death. 

Enter Antony and others, ivith Cesar's body. 

Here conies his body, mourned by Mai'k An- 
tony: who, though he had no hand in his death, 
shall receive the benetit of his dying, a place 
in the commonwealth; as wliich of you shall 
not ? With this 1 depart, — that, as I slew my 
best lover for the good of Rome, I have the 
same dagger for myself, when it shall please 
my country to need my death. 

All. Live, Brutus ! live, live ! 

First Cil. Bring him with triumph home 
unto his house. 

Sec. Cit. Give him a statue with his ances- 
tors. 

Third at. Let him be Ca-.sar. 

Fourth Cit. Ca's<ar's better parts 

Shall be crown'd in Brutus. 

Firi^t at. We'll bring him to his house 

With shouts and clamors. 

Bru. ^ly countrymen, — 

Sec. Cit. Peace, silence ! Biutus speaks. 

First at. Peace, ho ! 

Bru. Good countrymen, let me depart alone, 
And, for my sake, stay here with Antony : til 
Do grace to Ca-sar's corpse, and grace his 

speech 
Tending to Caesar's glories ; which Mark An- 
tony, 
By our permission, is allow'd to make. 
1 do entreat you, not a num depart. 
Save I alone, till Antony have sjwke. [Exit. 

First at. Stay, ho ! and let us hear Mark 
Antony. 

TJiird at. Let him go up iuto the public 
chair ; 
We'll heai- him. Noble Antony, go up. 

Ant. For Brutus* sake, I am beholding to 
you. [Goes into the jnilpit. 70 

Fourth Cit. What does he say of Brutus ? 

Tliird Cit. He .-iays, for Brutus' sake, 

He finds himself beholding to us all 

Fourth Cil. 'Twere best he speak uo harm 
of Brutus here. 

Ftrst at- This Caesar was a tjraut 



634 



JULIUS CJESAR. 



[Act iiil 



Tliird Cit. Nay, that's certain: 

We are blest that Rome is rid of him. 

Sec. Cit. Peace ! let us hear what Antony 
can say. 

Ant. You gentle Romans, — 

Citizens. Peace, ho ! let us hear him. 

Ant. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend 
me your ears ; 
I come to bury Ciesar, not to praise him. 
The evil that men do lives after them ; 80 

The good is oft interred with their bones ; 
So let it be with Ctesar. The noble Brutus 
Hath told you Ctesar was ambitious : 
If it were so, it was a grievous fault, 
And grievously hath Ctesar auswer'd it. 
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest — 
For Brutus is an honorable man ; 
So are they all, all honorable men — 
Come I to speak in Ctesar" s funeral. 
He was ray friend, faithful and just to me: 90 
But Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
And Brutus is an honorable man. 
He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : 
Did this in Ctesar seem ambitious ? 
When thtit the poor have cried, Csesar hath 

wept ■ 
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff : 
Yet Brutus says he was timbitious ; 
And Brutus is an honorable man. 
You all did see thtit on the Lupercal 100 

I thrice presented him a kingly crown. 
Which he did tlirice refuse: was tl lis ambition? 
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
And, sure, he is an honorable man. 
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, 
But here I am to speak what I do know. 
You all did love him once, not without cause: 
What cause withholds you then, to mourn for 
liim ? / 

judgment ! thou art fled to brutish beasts. 
And men have lost their reason. Bear with 

me ; 110 

My heart is in the coffin there with Ctesar, 
And I must pause till it come back to me. 
First Cit. Methinks there is much reason 

in his sayings. 
Sec. Git. If thou consider rightly of the 
matter, 
Ctesar has had great wrong. 

Third Cit. Has he, masters ? 

1 fear there will a worse come in his place. 
Fourth Cit. Miirk'd ye his words ? He 

would not take the crown ; 
Therefore 'tis certain he was not ambitious. 
First Cit. If it be found so, some will dear 

abide it. 
Sec. Cit. Poor soul ! his eyes are red as fire 

with weeping. 120 

Third Cit. There's not a nobler man in 

Rome than Antony. 
Fourth Cit. Now mark him, he begins 

again to speak. [might 

Ant. But yesterday the word of Ctesar 

Have stood against the world ; now lies he 

there, 



And none so poor to do him reverence. 

masters, if I were disposed to stir 
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 

1 should do Brutus wrong, tmd Cassius wrong, 
Who, you all know, are honorable men : 

I will not do them wrong ; I rather choose 130 
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, 
Tlian I wUl wrong such honorable men. 
But here's a parchment with the seal of Csesar; 
I found it in his closet, 'tis his will : 
Let but the commons hear this testament — 
Wliich, pardon me, I do not mean to read — 
And they would go and kiss dead CtBsar's 

wounds 
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood. 
Yea, beg a hair of him for memory. 
And, dying, mention it within their wills, 140 
Bequeathing it as a rich legacy 
Unto their issue. 
Fourth Cit. We'll hear the will : read it, 

Mark Antony. 
All, The will, the will ! we will hear Caesar's 

will. 
Ant. Have patience, gentle friends, I must 
not read it ; 
It is not meet you know how Ctesar loved you. 
You are not wood, you are not stones, but men; 
And, being men, hearing the will of Ctesar, 
It will inflame you, it will make you mad : 149 
'Tis good you liuow not that you are his heirs; 
For, if you should, 0, what would come of it! 
Fourth Cit. Read the will : we'll hear it, 
Antony ; 
You shall read us the will, Ctesar' s will. 
Ant. Will you be patient ? will you stay 
awhile ? 
I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it : 
I fear I wrong the honorable men 
Whose daggers have stabb'd Ctesar ; I do fear 
it. 
Fourth Cit. They were traitors : honorable 

men ! 
All. The will ! the testament ! 
(S'ec, Cit. Thev were villains, murderers 
the will ! read the will. 160 

Ant. You will compel me, then, to read the 
will ? 
Then make a ring about the corpse of Csesar, 
And let me show you liim that made the will. 
Shall I descend ? and will you give me leave ? 
Several Cit. Come down. 
Sec. Cit. Descend. 
Third Cit. You shall have leave. 

[Antony comes down. 
Foxirth Cit. A ring ; stand round. 
First Cit. Stand from the hearse, stand 

from the body. 
Sec. Cit. Room for Antony, most noble An- 
tony. 170 
Ant. Nay, press not so upon me ; stand far 

off. 
Severed Cit. Stand back ; room ; bear back. 
Ant. If you have tears, prej^are to shed 
them now. 
You all do know this mantle : I remember 
The first time ever Caesar put it on ; 



SCEKB III.| 



TtTLidS C^SAR. 



635 



'Twas on a summer's evoninfr, in his tent. 

That day ho overcame the Nervii : 

Look, in tliis place ran Casisi us' dagger through: 

See what a rent the envious Casca made : 

Through tliis the well-boloved Brutus stabb'd ; 

And as lie pluck'd his cursed steel away, 181 

Mark how the blood of Ca'sar follow'd it, 

As rushing out of doors, to be resolved 

If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no ; 

For Brutus, as you know, was Ctesar's angel : 

Judge, O you gods, how dearly Ca'sar loved 

him ! 
This was the most unkindest cut of all ; 
For when the noble Cresar saw him stab. 
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, 
Quito vanquish'd him : then burst his mighty 
heart ; 190 

And, in liis mantle muffling up his face, 
Kven at the base of Pompey's statue. 
Which all the while ran blood, great Ciesar 

fell. 
^, what a fall was there, my countrymen 
Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, 
Whilst bloody treason tlourish'd over us. 
O, now you weep ; and, I perceive, you feel 
The dint of pity: these are gracious drops. 
Kind .'■OLils, what, weep you when you but be- 
hold 
Our Ctesar's vesture wounded ? Look you 
here, '200 

Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, Avith trai- 
tors. 
First Cil. O piteous spectacle ! 
jS'ec. Clt. noble Cresar ! 
Third C;t. O woful day ! 
Fourth at. O traitors, villains ! 
First at. most bloody sight ! 
Sac. Cit. We will be revenged. 
All. Revenge ! About ! Seek ! Burn ! 
Fire ! Kill ! Slay ! Let not a traitor live ! 
Ant. Stay, countrymen. 210 

First at. Peace there ! hear the noble An- 
tony. 
iSVf. Cil. We'll hear hiia, we'll follow him, 
we'll die with him. 
Ant. Good friends, sweet friends, let mo 
not stir you up 
To such a sudden flood of mutiny. 
Tliey that have done this deed are honorable : 
What private griefs they have, alas, I know 

not, 
That made them do it : they are wise and 

honorable. 
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 
I come nut, friends, to steal away your hearts: 
I am no orator, as Brutus is ; 221 

But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, 
That love my friend ; and that they know full 

well 
That gave me public leave to speak of him : 
For Iliave neither wit, nor words, nor wortli, 
.Vction, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 
To stir men's blood : I only speak right on ; 
1 tell you that which you yourselves do know ; 
Show you sweet Cajsar's wounds, poor poor 
dumb moutba, 



And bid them speak for me : but were I Bru- 
tus, 230 
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
Would ruffle up your spirits and put a tongue 
In every wound of Ca'sar that should move 
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. 
AIL We'll mutiny. 

First Cit. We'll burn the house of Brutus. 
TJiird Cit. Away, then 1 come, seek the con- 
spirators. 
Ant. Yet hear me, couutrymen ; yet hear 

me speak. 
All. Peace, ho ! Hear Antony. Mo.st noble 
___Aiitony ! 

Ant. Why, friends, you go to do you know 

not what : 240 

Wherein hath Citsar thus deserved yourloves? 

Alas, you know not : I must tell you, then : 

You have forgot the will I told you of. 

All. Most true. The will I Let's stay and 

hear the will. 
Ant. Hero is the will, and under Caesar's 
seal. 
To every Roman citizen ho gives, 
To every several man, seventy-five drachmas. 
/S'ec. Cit. Most noble Ca'sar 1 We'll revenge 

his death. 
Third Cit. royal Casar ! 
Ant. Hear me with patience, 250 

All. Peace, ho ! [walks. 

Ant. Moreover, he hath left you all his 
His private arbors and new-planted orchards, 
Un this side Tiber ; he hath left them you. 
And to your heirs for ever, comniuu pleasures, 
To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. 
Here was a Casar ! when comes such another ? 
First Cit. Never, never. Come, away, away/ 
We'll burn his body in the holy place. 
And with the brands fire thS traitors' houses. 
Take u]) the body. 261 

Sec. Cit. Go fetch fire. 
Third Cit. Pluck down benches. 
Fourth Cit. Pluck down forms, windows, 
anything. [Exeimt Citizens 7vith the bodi/. 
Ant. Now let it work. Mischief, thou art 
afoot. 
Take thou what course thou wilt I 
Enter a Servant. 

How now, fellow 
Serp. Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome. 
Ant. Where is he ? 

Scrr. He and Lepidusare at Casar's house. 
Ant. And thither will I straight to visit him : 
He comes upon a wisli. Fortune is merry, 271 
And in this mood will gixe- us any thing. 

Serr. I heard him say. Brutus and Cassiu,<» 
Are rid like madmen through the gates ol 
Rome. [people, 

Ant. Belike they liad .some notice of the 
How I had moved them. Bring me to Octsi- 
vius. [ExeunL 

; -"- '* " Scene HI. A street. 
Enter Cinna the poet. 
Cin. I dreamt to-night that I did feast wotk 
Csesor^ 



JULIUS CJSSAR. 



[Act IV 



And things unlucky charge my fantasy : . 
I have no will to wander forth of doors, 
Yet something leads me forth. 
Enter Citizens. 

First at. What is your name ? 

Sec. Cit. Whither are you going ? 

Third Cit. Where do you dwell? 

Fourth Cit- Are you a married man or a 
bachelor ? 

Sec Cit. Answer every man directly. 10 

First Cit. Ay, and briefly. 

Fourth Cit. Ay, and wisely. 

Third Cit. Ay, and truly, you were best. 

Cin. What is my name ? Whither am I 
going ? Wiiere do I dwell ? Am I a married 
man or a bachelor ? Tlien, to answer every 
man directly and briefly, wisely and truly : 
wisely I say, I am a bachelor. 

Sec. Cit. That's as much as to say, they are 
fools that marry : you'll bear me a bang for 
that, I fear. Proceed ; directly. 21 

Cin. Directly, I am going to Cresar's funeral. 

First Cit. As a friend or an enemy ? 

Cm. As a friend. 

Sec. Cit That matter is answered directly. 

Fourth Cit. For your dwelling, — briefly. 

Cin. Briefly, I dwell by the Capitol. 

Third Cit. Your name, sir, truly. 

Cin. Truly, my name is Cinna 

First Cit, Tear him to pieces ; he's a con- 
spirator. 31 

Cin. I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the 
poet. 

Fourth Cit. Tear him for his bad verses, tear 
him for his bad verses. 

Cin. I am not Cinna the conspirator. 

Fourth Cit. It is no matter, his name's 
Cinna ; pluck but, his name out of his heart, 
and turn him going. 

Third Cit. Tear him, tear him ! Come, 
brands, ho ! fire-brands : to Brutus', to Cas- 
sius' ; burn all : some to Decius' house, and 
some to Casca's; some to Ligarius' : away, go! 

\_Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 
Scene I. A house in Rome. 

Antony, Octavius, and Lepldus, seated at a 
table. 

Ant. These many, then, shall die : their 

names are prick' d. 
Oct. Your brother too must die ; consent 

you, Lepidus ? 
Le.p. I do consent, — 

Oct. Prick him down, Antony. 

Lep. Upon condition Publius shall not live. 
Who is your sister's son, Mark Antony. 
Ant. He shall not live ; look, with a spot I 
damn him. 
But, Lepidus, go you to Caesar's house ; 
Fetch the will hither, and we shall determine 
How to cut ofE some charge ia legacies* 



Lep. What, shall I find you here? Ih 

Oct. Or here, or at the Capitol 

{Exit Lepiaui 

Ant. This is a slight unmeritable man, 
Meet to be sent on errands : is it fit. 
The three-fold world divided, he should stand 
One of the three to share it ? 

Oct. So you thought him ; 

And took his voice who should be prick'd to 

die. 
In our black sentence and proi-cription. 

Ant. Octavius, I have seen more days than 
you : 
And tliougli we lay these honors on this man. 
To ease ourselves of divers slanderous loads, 20 
He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold, 
To groan and sweat under the business, 
Either led or driven, as we point the way ; 
And having brought our treasure where W6 

will. 
Then take we down his load, and turn him off, 
Lilve to the empty ass, to shake his ears, 
And graze in commons. 

Oct. You may do your will 

But he's a tried and valiant soldier. 

Ant. So is my horse, Octavius ; and foi 
that 
I do appoint him store of provender : 30 

It is a creature that I teach to fight. 
To wind, to stop, to run directly on. 
His corporal motion govern'd by my spirit. 
And, in some taste, is Lepidus but so ; 
He must be taught and tr.ain'd and bid ga 

fortli ; 
A barren-spirited fellow ; one that feeds 
On abjects, orts and imitations, 
Wliich, out of use and staled by other men, 
Begin Ids fasliion : do not talk of him. 
But as a property. And now, Octavius, 40 
Listen great things : — Brutus and Cassius 
Are levying powers : we mus* straight make 

head : 
Therefore let our alliance be combined, 
f Our best friends made, our means stretch'd ; 
And let us presently go sit in council. 
How covert matters may be best disclosed, 
And open perils surest answered. 

Oct. Let us do so : for we are at the stake, 

And bay'd about with many enemies ; 

And some that smile have in their hearts, I 

fear, 50 

Millions of mischiefs. [Exexint. 

Scene II. Camn near Sardis. Be/ore Brutus' s 
tent. 

Dnim. Enter Bkutus, Lucilius, Lucius, and 
Soldiers ; Titinius and Pindakus meeting 
them. 

Bra. Stand, ho ! 

Lucil. Give the word, ho ! and stand. 
Bru. What now, Lucilius ! is Cassius near ? 
Lucil. He is at hand ; and Pindarus is conia 
To do you salutation from his master. 
Bru. He greets me well. Your master, 
Pindar aS( 



Scene iii.^ 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



63T 



In his own change, or by ill officers, 
Hath given nie some worthy cause to wish 
Things done, undone : but, if he be at hand, 
I shall be satisfied. 

Pin. I do not doubt 10 

But that my noble master will appear 
Such as he is, full of regard and honor. 

Bra. He is not doubted. A word, Lucilius ; 
How he received you, let me be resolved. 

Lucil. With courtesy and with respect 
enough ; 
But not with such familiar instances. 
Nor with such free and friendly conference, 
As he hatli used of old. 

Bni. Thou hast described 

A hot friend cooling : ever note, Lucilius, 
When love begins to sicken and decay, 20 
It useth an enforced ceremony. 
There are no tricks in plain and simple faith ; 
But hollow men, like liorses hot at hand, 
Make gallant show and promise of their mettle ; 
But when they should endure the bloody spur, 
They fall their crests, and, like deceitful jades, 
Sink in the trial. Comes his army on ? 

Lucil. They mean this night in Sardis to be 
qnarter'd ; 
The greater part, the horse in general, 
Are come with Cassius. 

Brii Hark ! he is arrived. 30 

[Low march ivithin. 
March gently on to meet him. 

Enter Cassius and his powers, 

Cas. Stand, ho ! 

Jint. Stand, ho ! Speak the word along. 

First Sol. Stand ! 

Sec. Sol. Stand ! 

Third Sol. Stand ! 

C(cs. Most noble brother, you have done 
me wrong. [enemie'^ ? 

Bru. Judge me, you gods ! wrong 1 mine 
And, if not so, how siiould I wrong a brother ? 

Cas. Brutus, this sober form of yours hides 
wrongs ; 40 

And when you do them^ 

Brri. Cassius, be content ; 

Speak your griefs softly : I do know you well. 
Before the eyes of both our armies here, [us. 
Which should perceive nothing but love from 
Let us not wrangle : bid them move away ; 
Then in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs. 
And I will give you audience. 

Cas. Pindarus, 

Bid our commanders lead their charges off 
A little from this ground 

Bru. Lucilius, do you the like ; and let no 
man 50 

Come to our tent till we have done our confer- 
ence. 
Let Lucms and Titinius guard our door. 

^ [Exeunt. 

" Scene IIL Brutus's tent. 
Enter Brctus and C.vssius. 
Cos- That you have wrong'd me doth ap- 
pear in this : 



You have conderan'd and noted Lucius Pella 
For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; 
Wherein my letters, praying on his side, 
Because I knew the man, were slighted off. 

Bru. You wronged yourself to write ii\ 
such a case. 

Cas. In such a time as this it is. not meet 
That every nice offence should bear his com- 
ment. 

Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, yf)u yourself 
Are much condemn' d to have an itching palm ; 
To sell and mart your offices for gold 11 

To undeservers. 

Cas. I an itching palm ! 

You know that you are Brutus that speak this, 
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. 

Bru. The name of Cassius honors this 
corruption. 
And chastisement doth therefore hide his head, 

Cas. Chastisement ! 

Br^l. Remember March, the ides of March 
rememl>er : 
Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake ? 
What villain touch'd his body, that did stiib, 
And not for justice ? What, sliall one of us. 
That struck the foremost man of all this world 
Bat for supporting robbers, shall we now 
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, 
And sell the mighty space of our large honors 
For so much trash as may be grasped thus ? 
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon. 
Than such a Roman. 

Cas. Brutus, bay not me ; 

I'll not endure it : you forget yourself, 
To hedge me in ; I am a soldier, I, 30 

Older in practice, abler than yourself 
To make conditions. 

Bru. Go to ; you are not, Cassius. 

Cos. I am. 

Bru. I say you are not. 

Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget my- 
self ; 
Have mind upon your health, tempt me no 
further. 

Bni. Away, slight man ! 

Cas. Is't possible ? 

Bru. Hear me, for I will speak. 

Must I give way and room to your rash 

choler ? 
Shall I be frighted when a madman stares ? 40 

Cas. ye gods, ye gods ! must I endure 
all this ? 

Bru. All this ! ay, more : fret till your 
proud heart break ; 
Go show your slaves how choleric you are, 
And make your bondmen tremble. Must I 

budge ? 
Must I observe you ? must I stand and crouch 
Under your testy humor ? By the gods, 
You shall digest the venom of your spleen. 
Though it do sitlit you ; for, from this day 

forth, 
I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, 
When you are waspish. 

Cas. Is it come to this 7 50 

Bru. You say you are a better soldier ; 



'^88 



JllLIUS G^^Ak. 



{Act if. 



Let it appear so ; make your vaunting true, 
And it shall please me well : for mine own 

part, 
I shall be glad to learn of noble men. 
Cas. You wrong me everj' way ; you wrong 
me, Brutus ; 
I said, an elder soldier, not a better : 
Did I say ' better ' ? 
Bru. If you did, I care not. 

Cas. When Csesar lived, he durst not thus 

have moved me. 
Bru. Peace, peace ! you durst not so have 

tempted him. 
Cas. I durst not ! 60 

Bru. No. 

Cas. What, durst not tempt him ! 
Bru. For your life you durst not. 

Cas. Do not presume too much upon my 
love ; 
I may do that I shall be sorry for. 
Bru. You have done that you should be 
sorry for. 
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats, 
For I am arm'd so strong in honesty 
That they pass by me as the idle wind, 
Which I respect not. I did send to you 
For certain sums of gold, which you denied 
me : 70 

For I can raise no money by vile means : 
By heaven, I had rather coin my heart, 
And drop my blood for drachmas, than to 
wring [trash 

From tlie hard hands of ]5easants their vile 
By any indirection : I did send 
To you for gold to pay my legions. 
Which you denied me: was that done like 

Cassius ? 
Should I have answer'd Cains Cassius .so ? 
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous, 79 
To lock such rascal counters from his friends, 
Be ready, gOds, with all your thunderbolts ; 
Dash him to pieces ! 

Cas. I denied you not. 

Bru. You did. 

Cas. I did not : he was but a fool that 
brought 
My answer back. Brutus hath rived my 

heart : 
A friend should bear his friend's infirmities. 
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. 
Bru. I do not, till you practice them on 

me. 
Cas. You love me not. 
Bru. I do not like your faults. 

Cas. A friendly eye could never see such 
faults. 90 

Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they 
do appear 
As huge as high Olympus. 

Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, 
come, 
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, 
For Cassius is aweary of the world ; 
Hated by one he loves, braved by his brother; 
Check' d like a bondman ; all nis faults ob- 
served, 



Set in a note-book, learn' d, and conn'd by 

rote. 
To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep 
My spirit from mine eyes ! There is my 
dagger, 100 

And here my naked breast ; within, a heart 
Dearer than Plutus* mine, richer than gold : 
If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth ; 
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart : 
Strike, as thou didst at Ctesar ; for, I know, 
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst 

him better 
Tlian ever thou lovedst Cassius. 

Bru. Sheathe your dagger : 

Be angry when you will, it shall have scope ; 
Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor. 
Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb 110 
That carries anger as the flint bears fire ; 
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, 
And straiglit is cold again. 

Cas. Hath Cassius lived 

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 
When grief, and blood ill-temper'd, vexeth 
him? 
Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd 

too. 
Cas. Do you confess so much ? Give me 

your hand. 
Bru. And my heart too. 
Cas. O Brutus ! 120 

Bru. What's the matter ? 

Cas. Have not you love enough to bear 
witli me, 
When that rash humor which my mother gave 

me 
Makes me forgetful ? 

Bru. Yes, Cassius ; aud, from henceforth, 

When you are over-earnest witli your Brutus, 

He'll think your mother chides, and leave you 

so. 

Poet. [Withvi] Let me go in to gee the 

generals ; 

There is some grudge between 'em, 'tis not 

meet 
They be alone. 
Lucil. {Withiii] You shall not come to 

them. 
Poet. [Withiril Nothing but death shall 
stay me. 

Enter Poet, followed hy Lucilius, Titinius, 
and Lucius. 

Cas. How now ! what'a the matter? 
Poet. For shame, you generals 1 what do 

you mean ? 130 

Love, and be friends, as two such men should 

be; 
For I have seen more years, I'm sure, than ye. 
Cas. Ha, ha ! how vilely doth this cynic 

rhyme I 
Bru. Get you hence, sirrah ; saucy fellow:. 

hence ! 
Cas. Bear with him, Brutus ; 'tis his 

fashion. 
Bru. I'll know his humor, when he know* 

his time: 



^C£KK til. 



juLWs d^sAn. 



m 



What should the vrars do witli these jigging 

fools ? 
Companion, lieuce ! 

C'w.v. Awaj-, away, be gone ! 

[Exit Poet. 
Bru. Liicilius and Titiuius, bid the com- 
manders 
Prejjare to lodge their companies to-night 140 
Cas. And come yourselves, and bring 
Messala with you 
Immediately to us. 

[^Exeunt Lucilins and T/tinins. 
Bru. Lucius, a bowl of wine ! [Exit Lticius. 
Cas, I did not think you could have been 

so angry. 
Bru. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs. 
Cas. Of your philosophy you make no use, 
If you give place to accidental evils. 
Bru. No man bears sorrow better, Portia 

is dead. 
Cas. Ha ! Portia ! 
Bru. She is dead. 

Cas. How 'scaped I killing when I cross'd 
you so ? 150 

insupportable and toucliing loss ! 
Upon what sickness ? 

Bru. Impatient of my absence, 

And grief that yoimg Octavius with Mark 

Antony 
Have made themselves so strong : — for with 

her death 
That tidings came; — with this she fell distract, 
And, her attendants absent, swallow'd fire. 

C'rts. And died so ? 

Bru. Even so. 

Cas. ye immortal gods ! 

Re-enter Lucius, toith ivine and taper. 

Bru. Speak no more of h%r. Give me a 
bowl of wine. 
In this I bury all unkiudness, Cassius. 

Cas. My "^ heart is thir.sty for that noble 
pledge. IGO 

fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup ; 

1 cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. 
Bru. Come in, Titiuius ! lExU Lucius. 

Re-enter Titiniu.s, wU?i Mess.\la. 

Welcome, good Messala, 
Now sit we close about this taper liere, 
And call mi question our necessities. 

Cas. Portia, art thou gone ? 

Bru. No more, I pray you. 

Messala, I have here received letters. 
That young Octavius and Mark Antony 
Come down U|)nn us with a mighty power, 
Bending their e.xpcdition toward I'liilippi. 170 

Mrs. Myself have letters of the .selfsame 
tenor. 

Bni. "With what addition ? 

^frs. That by i>roscriptioii and bills of out- 
lawry, 
Octavius. Antony, and Lejiidus, 
Have i)nt to death an hundred seuatnr.s. 

Hni. Therein our letters <h> not well agree; 
Miuc speak oi seventy senators that died 



By their proscriptions, Cicero being one, 
I Cas. Cicero one ! 

Mes. Cicero is dead, 

And by that order of proscription. 180 

Had you your letters from your wife, my lord ? 

Bni. No, Messala. 

Jles. Nor nothing in your letters writ of 
her? 

Bru. Nothing, Messala. 

Jifes. That, methinks, is strange. 

Bru. Why ask you ? hear you aught of 
her in yours ? 

lies. No, my lord. 

Bru. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me 
true. 

Mes. Then like a Roman bear the truth I 

tell : [ner. 

For certain she is dead, and by strange man- 

Bru. Why, farewell, Portia. We must die, 
Messala : 190 

With meditating that she must die once, 
I have the patience to endure it now. 

Mes. Even so great men great losses should 
endure. 

Cas. I have as much of this in art as you, 
But yet my nature could not bear it so. 

Bru. Well, to our work alive. What do 
you think ? 
Of marching to Philippi presently? 

Cas. I do not think it good. 

Bru. Your reason ? 

Cas. This it is : 

'Tis better that the enemy seek us : 
So shall he waste his means, weary his sol- 
diers, 200 
Doiug himself offence ; whilst we, lying still, 
Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness. 

Bru. Good reasons must, of force, give 
place to better. 
The people 'twixt Philippi and this ground 
Do stand but in a forced allection ; 
For they have grudged us contribution : 
The enemy, marching along by them. 
By them shall make a fuller number up, 
Come on refresh'd, new-added, and encour- 
aged; 
From which advantage shall we cut him off, 
If at Philippi we do face him there, 211 

These people at our back. 

Cas. Hear me, good brother, 

Bru. Under your pardon. You must note 
beside. 
That we have tried the utmost of our friends, 
Our legions are brim-full, our cause is riiie ; 
The enemy increaseth every day ; 
We, at the height, are ready to decline. 
There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
Which, taken at the flood, leads (ju to fortune; 
Omitted, all the voyage of their life 200 

Is bound in shallows and in miseries. 
On such a full sea are we now afloat ; 
And we must take the current when It ssrves, 
Or lose our ventures. 

Cioi. Then, with your will, go on ; 

We'll along ourselves, and meet them at 
Philippi, 



640 



J-t/LWS CySSAR. 



[Act v. 



Bru. The deep of night is crept upon our 
talk, 
And nature must obey necessity ; 
Which we will niggard with a little rest. 
TliM-e is no more to say ? 

Cas. No more. Good night : 

Early to-morrow will we rise, and hence. 230 

Bru. Lucius! [Enter Lucius.'\ My gown. 
[Exit Lucius.] Farewell, good Messala : 
Good night, Titinius. Noble, noble Cassius, 
Good night, and good repose. 

Cas. O my dear brother ! 

This was an ill beginning of the night : 
Never come such division 'tween our souls ! 
Let it not, Brutus. 

Bni. Every thing is well. 

Cas. Good night, my lord. 

Bru. Good night, good brother. 

Tit. Mess. Good night. Lord Brutus. 

Bru. Farewell, every one. 

[Exeunt all but Brutus. 

Re-enter Lucius, ivith the goiun. 
Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument ? 
Luc. Here iu the tent. 
Bru. What, thou speak'st drowsily ? 240 
Poor knave, I blame thee not ; thou art o'er- 

watch'd. 
Call Claudius and some other of my men : 
I'll have them sleep on cushions iu my tent. 
hue. Varro and Claudius ! 

Enter Varro and Claudius. 

Var. Calls my lord ? 

Bru, I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent and 
sleep ; 
It may be I shall raise you by and by 
On business to my brother Cassius. 

Var. So please you, we will stand and 

watch your pleasure. 
Bru. I will not have it so : lie down, good 
sirs ; 250 

ft may be I shall otherwise bethink me. 
Look, Lucius, here's the book I sought for so ; 
1 put it in the pocket of my gown. 

[ Var. and Clau. lie down. 
Luc. I was sure your lordship did not give 

it me. 
Bru. Bear with me, good boy, I am much 
forgetful, 
^anst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile. 
And touch thy instrument a strain or two ? 
Luc. Ay, my lord, an't please you. 
j*n/. It does, my boy : 

I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing. 
Luc. It is my duty, sir. 260 

Bru. I should not urge thy duty past thy 
might ; 
I know young bloods look for a time of rest. 
Luc. I have slept, my lord, already. 
Bru. It was well done ; and thou shalt 
sleep again ; 
I will not hold thee long : if I do live, 
I will be good to thee. [Music, and a song. 
This is a sleepy tune. murderous slumber, 
I<ay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy, 



That plays thee music ? Gentle knave, good 
night ; 269 

I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee : 
If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument ; 
I'll take it from thee ; and, good boy, good 

night. 
Let me see, let me see ; is not the leaf turn'd 

down 
Where I left reading ? Here it is, I think. 

Enter the Ghost of C^sar. 
How ill this taper burns ! Ha ! who comes 

here ? 
I think it 's the weakness of mine eyes 
That shapes this monstrous apparition. 
It comes upon me. Art thou any thing ? 
Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil. 
That makest my blood cold and my hair to 
stare ? 280 

Speak to me what thou art. 

Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. 

Brit. Why comest thou ? 

Ghost. To tell thee thou shalt see me at 

Philippi. 
Bru. Well ; then I shall see thee again ? 
Ghost. Ay, at Philippi. 
Bru. Why, I will see thee at Philippi, then. 
[Exit Ghost. 
Now I have taken heart thou vanishest : 
111 spirit, I would hold more talk with thee. 
Boy, Lucius ! Varro ! Claudius ! Sirs, awake ! 
Claudius ! ' 291 

Luc. Tho strings, my lord, are false. 
Bru. He thinks he still is at his instrument, 
Lucius, awake ! 
inc. My lord ? 
Bru. Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou 

so criedst out ? 
Luc. My lord, I do not know that I did cry. 
Bru. Yes, tlfkt thou didst : didst thou see 

any thing ? 
Luc. Nothing, my lord. 
Bru. Sleep again, Lucius. Sirrah Clau- 
dius 1 300 
[To Var.] Fellow thou, awake ! 
Var. My lord ? 
Clau. My lord ? 
Bi-u. Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your 

sleep ? 
Var. Clau. Did we, my lord ? 
Bru. Ay : saw you any thing ? 

Var. No, my lord, I saw nothing. 
Clau. Nor I, my lord. 

Bru. Go and commend me to my brother 
Cassius ; 
Bid him set on his powers betimes before, 
And we will follow. 

Var, Clau. It shall be done, my lord. 308 

[Exeunt. 

ACT V. 
Scene I. The plains of Philyppi. 
Enter Octavius, Antony, and their army. 
Oct. Now, Antony, our hopes are answered 



ScEtfE I. 



JULtUS CyESAR. 



641 



You said the enemy would not come down, 
But keep the hills and upper regions ; 
It proves not so : their battles are at hand ; 
They mean to warn us at IMiilippi here, 
Answering before we do demand of tliem. 

Ant. Tut, I am in their bosoms, and 1 know 
Wherefore they do it : they could be content 
To visit other places ; and come down 
With fearful bravery, thinking by this face 10 
To fasten in our thoughts that they have cour- 
age ; 
But 'tis not so. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mi'ss. Prepare you, generals : 

The enemy conies on in gallant show ; 

Tlieir l>loody sign otbattlo ishuugout, 

And sonietiiing to be done immediately. 

Ant. Octavius, lead your battle softly on, 
Up iu the left hand of the even field. 

Oct. Upon the right hand I ; keep thou the 

left. 
Ant. Why do you cross me in this exigent ? 
Oct. I do uot cross you ; but I will do so. 

[March. 20 
Drum. Enter Bruti's, C.\ssius, and thrir 
Army ; LuciLius, Titinius, Messala, and 
other': 

Bra. They stand, and would have parley. 
t't(,s. Stand fast, Titinius : we must out and 

tallf. 
Oct. Mark Antony, shall we give sign of 

battle ? 
Ant. No, Cresar, we will answer on their 
charge. 
Make forth ; the generals would have some 
words. 
Oct. Stir not until the sigr.rl. 
Bru. Words before blows : is it so, country- 
men ? 
Oct. Not that we love words better, as you 

do. 
Bru. Good words are better than bad 

strokes, Octavius. 
Ant. In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give 
good words : 30 

Witness tlie hole you made in C;esar's heart. 
Crying ' Long live ! liail, Ciesar I ' 

Cus. Antony, 

Tlie ]>osture of your blows are yet unknown ; 
But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees. 
And icave them houeyless. 
A.it. Not stingless too. 

Bru. O, yes, and .soundless too •, 
For j-ou have stol'n their buzzing, Antony, 
And very wisely threat before you sting. 
Ant. "Villains, you did not so, when your 
vile daggers 
Ilack'd one another in the sides of Ciiesar : 40 
You siiow'd your teeth like apes, and fawn'd 

like hounds. 
And bow'd like bondmen, kissing Cifsar's feet; 
Whilst damned Casca, like a cur, behind 
Struck Oa-sar on the neck. O you flatterers ! 
Cos- Flattereis I Now, Brutus, thank your- 
seU- 



This tongue had not offended so to-day, 
If Cassius might have ruled. 

Oct. Come, come, the cause : if arguirjg 
make us sweat. 
The proof of it will turn to redder drops. 
Look ; 60 

I draw a sword against conspirators ; 
Wlien think you that the sword goes up again? 
Never, till Cresar's three and thirty wounds 
Be well avenged ; or till another Ca-sar 
Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors. 

Bra. CiBsar, thou canst uot die by traitors' 
hands, 
Unless thou bring' st them with thee. 

Oct. So I hope , 

I was not born to die on Brutus' sword. 

Bru. O, if thou wert the noblest of thy 
strain, 
Young man, thou couldst uot die more honor- 
able. 60 

Cus. A peevish schoolboy, worthless of such 
honor, 
Join'd with a masker and a reveller ! 

A'H. Old Cassius still ! 

Oct. Come, Antony, away I 

Do^fiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth : 
If you dare fight to-day, come to the field ; 
If not, when you have stomachs. 

[Exeunt Octavius, Antony, and their armij. 

Cas. Why, now, blow wiud, swell billow 
and swim bark ! 
The storm is up, and all is on the hazard. 

Bru. Ho, Lucilius ! hark, a word with you. 

Lucil. [Standi n'j/orth] My lord ? 

[Brutus and Lucilius converse opart. 

Cas. Messala 1 

Mess. [Standinr/ forth] What says my gen- 
eral ? 70 

Cas. Messala, 
This is my birth-day; as this very day 
Was Cassius born. Give me thy Land, Mes- 
sala : 
Be thou my witness that against my will, 
As Pompey was, am I compell'd to set 
U|iou one battle all our liberties. 
You laiow that I held Epicurus strong 
And his opinion : now I change my mind, 
Ai\d partly credit things that do pre.s.ige. 
Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign 80 
Two mighty eagles fell, and there they perch'd. 
Gorging and feeding from our soldiei-s' bauds ; 
Who to Philippi here consorted us : 
This morning are they fled away and gone ; 
And in their steads do ravens, crows and kitv^s, 
Fly o'er our heads and downwnid look on ns, 
A.s we were sickly prey : their shadows seem 
A canopy most fatal, under which 
Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost. 

Mes. Believe not so. 

Cos. I but believe it partly ; 90 

For 1 am fresh of spirit and resolved 
T J meet all perils very constantly. 

Bru. Even so, Lucilius. 

Cas. Now, most noble Brutus, 

The gods to-day .stand friendly, that we may, 
Lovers iu peace, lead on our days to age J 



JtJLtUS cJSSAk. 



[Act v. 



But since the affairs of men rest still incertaiu, 
Let's reason with the worst that may befall. 
If we do lose this battle, then is this 
The very last time we shall speak together : 
Wh at are you then determined to do ? 100 

Bru. Even by the rule of that philosophy 
By which I did blame Cato for the death 
Which he did give himself, I know not how, 
But I do find it cowardly and vile, 
For fear of what might fall, so to prevent 
The time of life : arming myself with patience 
To stay the providence of some high powers 
That govern us below. 

Ciis. Tlien, if we lose this battle, 

You are contented to be led in triumph 
Thorough the streets of Rome ? 110 

Bru. No, Cassius, no ; think not, thou noble 
Roman, 
That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome ; 
He bears too great a mind. But this same day 
Must end that work the ides of March begun ; 
And whether we shall meet again I know not. 
Therefore our everlasting farewell take : 
For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius ! 
If we do meet again, why, we shall smile ; 
If not, why tlien, this parting was well made. 

Cas. For ever, and forever, farewell, Brutus! 
If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed ; 121 
If not, 'tis true this parting was well made. 

Bru. Why, then, lead on. 0, that a man 
might know 
The end of this day's business ere it come ! 
But it sufHceth that the day will end. 
And tlien the end is known. Come, ho ! away ! 

[Exeunt. 

ScEiiE II. The same. The field of battle. 
Alarum. Enter Bkutus and Messala. 
Bru. Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and give these 
bills 
Unto the legions on the other side. 

[^Loud alarum. 
Let them set on at once ; for I perceive 
But cold demeanor in Octavius' wing. 
And sudden push gives them the overthrow* 
Bide, ride, Messala : let them all come down. 

[^Exeunt. 

Scene III. Another part of the field. 
Alarums. Enter Cassius and Titinixts. 

Cas. O, look, Titinius, look, the villains fly! 
Myself have to mine own turn'd enemy : 
This ensign here of mine was turning back ; 
1 slew the coward, and did take it from him. 
Tit. O Cassius, Brutus gave the word too 
early ; 
Who, having some advantage on Octavms, 
Took it too eagerly : his soldiers fell to spoil, 
Whilst we by Antony are all enclosed. 
Enter Pindarus. 
Pin. Fly further off, my lord, fly further 
off ; 
Mark Antony is in your tents, my lord : 10 
Fly, therefore, noble Cassius, fly far o£E> 



Cas. This hill is far enough. Look, look) 

Titinius ; 

Are those my tents where I ijerceive the fire ? 

Tit. They are, my lord. 

Cas. Titinius, if thou lovest me; 

Mount thou my horse, and hide thy spurs in 

him. 
Till he have brought thee up to yonder troops, 
And here again ; that I may rest assured 
Whether yond troops are friend or enemy. 
Tit. I will be here again, even with a 
thought. lExit. 19 

Cas. Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hill ; 
My sight was ever thick ; regard Titinius, 
And tell me what thou notest about the field. 

[Pindarus ascends the hill. 
This day I breathed first : time is come round, 
And where I did begin, there shall I end ; 
My life is run his compass. Sirrah, what 
news ? 
Pin. [Above] my lord ! 
Cas. What news ? 

Pin. [Above] Titinius is enclosed round 

about 

With horsemen, that make to him on the spur; 

Yet he spurs on. Now they are almost on 

him. 30 

Now, Titinius ! Now some light. 0, he lights 

too. [for joy. 

He's ta'en. [Shout.] And, hark ! they shout 

Cas. Come down, beliold no more. 
O, coward that I am, to live so long. 
To see my best friend ta'en before my face ! 
Pindarus descends. 

Come hither, sirrah : 

In Parthia did I take thee prisoner ; 

And then I swore thee, saving of thy life. 

That whatsoever I did bid thee do. 

Thou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep 

thine oath ; 40 

Now be a freeman : and with this good sword, 
That ran through Ciesar's bowels, search this 

bosom. 
Stand not to answer : here, take thou the 

hilts ; 
And, when my face is cover'd, as 'tis now, 
Guide thou the sword. [Pindarus stabs him. | 

Caesar, thou art revenged. 
Even with the sword that kill'd thee. [Dies. 
Pin. So, I am free ; yet would not so have 

been. 
Durst I have done my will. O Cassius, 
Far from this countrj'^ Pindarus shall run, 
Where never Roman shall take note of him. 50 

[Exit. 

Re-enter Titinius with Messala. 
Mes. It is but change, Titinius ; for Octa- 
vius 
Is overthrown by noble Brutus' power. 
As Cassius' legions are by Antony. 

Tit. These tidings will well comfort 

Cassius. 
Mes. Where did you leave him ? 
Tit. All disconsolate, 

Witi Pindarus his bondman, on this hill. 



6cBNB V.| 



JULIUS CjESAH 



643 



Mes. Is not that he that lies upon the 

ground ? 
Tit. He lies not like the living. O my 

heart \ 
Mes. Is not that he ? 

Tit. No, this was he, Messala, 

But Cassius Is no more. O setting sun, 60 
As in thy red rays thou dost sink to-niglit, 
So in liis red blood Cassius' day is set ; 
The sun of Rome is set ! Our day is gone ; 
Clouds, dews, and dangers come ; our deeds 

are done I 
Mistrust of my success hath done this deed. 
Mes. Mistrust of good euccess liath done 

this deed. 
O hateful error, melancholy's child, 
Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of 

men [ceived. 

The things that are not ? O error, soon con- 

Thou never comest unto a liappy birth, 70 

But kill'st the mother that engender'd thee ! 

TiU What, Pindar us ! where art thou, Pin- 

darus ? 
Mes. Seek him, Titinius, whilst I go to 

meet 
The noble Brutus, thrusting this report 
Into his ears ; I may say, thrusting it ; 
For piercing steel and darts envenomed 
Shall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus 
As tidings of this sight. 

Tit. Hie you, Messala, 

And I will seek for Pindarus the while. 

[Exit Messala. 
Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius? 
Did I not meet thy friends ? and did not they 
Put on my brows this wreath of victory. 
And bid me give it thee ? Didst thou not 

hear their shouts ? 
Alas, thou hast misconstrued every thing ! 
But, hold thee, tiike this garland on thy brow ; 
Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I 
W^ill do his bidding. Brutus, come apace. 
And see liow I regarded Caius Cassius. 
By your leave, gods ; — this is a Roman's part ; 
C!ome, Cassius' sword, and find Titinius' 

heart [Kills himself. 90 

Alarum. Re-enter Messala, with Brutus, 
yonng Cato, Strato, Volumnius, and Lv- 

CILITJS. 

Bru. Wliere, where, Messala, doth his 

body lie ? 
Mes. Lo, yonder, and Titinius mourning it 
Bru. Titinius' face is upward. 
Cato. He is slain 

Bru. Julius Ca;sar, thou art mighty 
yet! 
Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords 
In our own proper entrails. [Low alai-vms. 

Cato. Brave Titinius ! 

Look, whether he have not crown'd dead Cas- 
eins I 
Bru. Are yet two Romans living such as 
these ? 
The last of all the Romans, fare thee well ! 
|k is impossible that ever Bomo 100 



Should breed thy fellow. Friends, I owe more 

tears 
To this dead man than you shall see me pay. 
1 shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time. 
Come, tlierefore, and to "Thasos send his body: 
His funerals sh:ill not be in our camp. 
Lest it discomfort us. Lucilius, come ; 
And come, young Cato ; let us to the field, 
Labeo and Fla^ius, set our battles on : 
'Tis three o'clock ; and, Romans, yet ere 

night 
We shall try fortune in a second fight 

[ExeunL 

Scene IV. Another part of the field. 

Alarum. Enter fighting, Soldiers of both 

armies ; then Brutus, young Cato, Lu- 
cilius, and others. 

Bru. Yet, countrymen, 0, yet hold up 
your heads ! 

Cato. What bastard doth not ? Who will 
go with me ? 
I will proclaim my name about the field : 
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho ! 
A foe to tyrants, and my country's friend : 
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho' ! 

Bru. And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I ; 

Brutus, my country's friend ; know me for 

Brutus ! [Exit. 

Lucil. O young and noble Cato, art thou 
down ? 
Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius ; 
And mayst be houor'd, being Cato's son. 11 

First Sold. Yield, or thou diest. 

Lucil. Only I yield to die : 

There is so much that thou wilt kill me 
straight ; [Offering money. 

Kill Brutus, and be houor'd in his death. 

First Sold. We must not. A noble prisoner! 

Sec. Sold. Room, lio ! Tell Antony, Brutus 
is ta'en. [the general. 

First Sold. I'll tell the news. Here comes 
Enter Antony. 
Brutus is ta'en, Brutus is ta'en, my lord. 

Ant. Where is he ? 

Lucil. Safe, Antony; Brutus is safe enough: 
I dare assure thee that no enemy 21 

Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus : 
The gods defend him from so great a shame ! 
When you do find liim, or alive or dead. 
He will be found like Brutus, like himself. 

Ant. This is not Brutus, friend ; but, I 
assure you, 
A prize no less in worth : keep this man safe ; 
Give him all kindness : I had rather have 
Such men my friends than enemies. Go on, 
And see whether Brutus be alive or dead ; 30 
And bring us word unto Octavius' tent 
How every thing is chanced. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. Another part of the field. 

Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato, 

and VoLUMNius. 

Briu Come, pooc remains of friends, cesit 
gu this lock. 



644 



JVLWS CJ^BAk. 



{kci -f . 



Cli. Statilius show'd the torch-light, but, 
my lord, 
lie c:iiue not back : he is orta'en or slain. 
Bru. Sii thee down, Clitus : slaying is the 
word ; 
It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus. 

[ Whispers. 
Cli. What, I, my lord ? No, not for all tlie 

world. 
Bru. Peace then ! no words. 
Cli. I'll rather kill myself. 

Bru. Hark thee, Dardauius. [ Whispers. 
Dar. Shall I do such a deed ? 

Cli. O Dardauius ! 

Dar. Clitus ! 10 

Cli. What ill request did Brutus make to 

thee ? 
Dar. To kill him, Clitus. Look, he 

meditates. 
Cli. Now is that noble vessel full of grief, 
That it runs over even at his eyes. 
Bru. C<.>me hither, good Volumnius ; list 

a word. 
Vol. What says my lord ? 
Bru. Why, this, Volumnius : 

The ghost of Caesar hath appear'd to me 
Two sC'/eral times by night ; at Sardis once. 
And, this last night, here iu Philippi fields : 
I know my hour is come. 

Vol. Not so, ray lord. 20 

Bru. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius. 
Thou seest the world, Vokimnius, how it goes; 
Our enemies have beat us to the pit : 

[Loiv alarums. 
It is more worthy to leap in ourselves, 
Than tarry till they push us. Good Volum- 
nius, 
Thou k)iow'st that we two went to school to- 
gether : 
Even for tliat our love of old, I prithee, 
Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I ruu on it. 
Vol. That's not an office for a friend, my 
lord. [Alarum still. 

Cli. Fly, fly, my lord ; there is no tarrying 
here. 30 

Bru, Farewell to you ; and you ; and you, 
Volumnius. 
Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep ; 
Farewell to thee too, Strato. Countrymen, 
My heart doth joy that yet in all my life 
I found no man but he was true to me. 
I shall have glory by this losing day 
More than Octavius and Marie Antony 
By this vile conquest sliall attain unto. 
So fare yon well at once ; for Brutus' tongue 
Hath almost ended his life's history : 40 

Night hangs upon mine eyes ; my bones 
would rest. 



That have but labor'd to attain this hour. 

[Alarum. Cry ivithin, ' Fly, fly, fly ! ' 
Cli. Fly, my lord, fly. 
Bru. Hence ! I will follow 

[E:f.eunt Clitus, Dardauiu.s, and Volumnius 
I prithee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord : 
Thou art a fellow of a good respect ; 
Thy life hath had some smatch of honor in it : 
Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face. 
While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato ? 
Stra. Give me your hand first. Fare you 

well, my lord. 
Bi'^i. Farewell, good Strato. [Runs on his 
siuord.] Ciiesar, now be still : 50 

I kill'd not tliee with half so good a will. 

[Dies. 

Alarum. Retreat. Enter Octavius, Antont, 
Messala, Lucilius, and the army. 

Oct. What man is that ? 

Mes. My master's man. Strato, where is 

thy master ? 
Stra. Free from the bondage you are in, 
Messala : 
The conquerors can but make a fire of him ; 
For Brutus only overcame himself. 
And no man else hath honor by his death. 
Lucil. So Brutus should be found. I thank 
thee, Brutus, 
That thou liast i)roved Lucilius' saying true. 
Oct. All that served Brutus, I will entertain 
them. 60 

Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me ? 
Stra. Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you. 
Oct. Do so, good Messala . 
Mes. How died my master Strato ? 
Stra. I held the sword, and he did run on 

it. 
Mes. Octavius, then take him to follow 
thee, 
That did the latest service to ray master. 
Ant. This was the noblest Roman of them 
all: 
All the conspirators save only he 
Did that they did in envy of great C?esar ; 70 
He onlj% in a general honest thought 
And common good to all, made one of them. 
His life was gentle, and the elements 
So mix'd in him that Nature might stand up 
And say to all the world ' This was a man ! ' 
Oct. According to his virtue let us use him, 
With all respect and rites of burial. 
Within my tent his bones to-night shall lie, 
Most like a soldier, order'd honorably. 
So call the field to rest ; and let's away, 80 
To part the glories ot this happy day. 

[Exeunt. 



HAMLET, 

(written about 1602.) 



INTRODUCTION. 

ITamlet represents the mid period of the growth of Shakespeare's genius, when comedy and his- 
toi-y reased to be adequate for the expression of his deeper thoughts and sadder feelings about life, 
and when lie was just entering upon his great series of tragic writings. In July. IGOL'. the printc- 
Roberts entered in the Stationers' register, "The Revenge of Hamlett, Prin<'e of Denmark, as ye 
latelie was acted by the Lord Chamberlain his servantes," and in the next year the play was printed. 
The true relation of this first quarto of Hamlet to the second quarto, published iu Jt)04^ — " newly im- 
printed, and enlarged to almost as much againe as it was "' — is a matter in dispute. It is beli« red by 
Bome critics that the quarto of 160:5 is merely an imperfect report of the play as we find it in Uie edi- 
tion of the year after ; but there are some nuiterial differences which cannot thus be explained. la 
the earlier'quarto. instead of Polouius aud Reynaldo, we tind the names Corambis and Wontano; 
the order of certain scenes varies from that of the later quarto ; " the madness of Hamlet is much 
more pronounced, and the Queen's innocence of her husband's murder much more explicitly 
stated." We are forced to believe either that the earlier quarto contains portions of an old play by 
some other writer than Shakespeare — an opinion adopted on apparently insutlicient grounds by 
BOme recent editor — or that it represents imperfectly Shakespeare's tirst draught of the play, and 
that the ililTerence between it and the second qiiario is due to Shakespeare's revision of his own 
work. This. last opinion seetns to be the true one, but the value of any comparison between the two 
quartos, with a view to understand Shakespeare's manner of rehandling his work, is greatly di- 
minished by the fact that numerous gaps of the imperfect report given in the earlier quarto seem to 
have been tilled in by a stupid stage liack. That an old play on tiie subject of Hamlet existed there 
can be no doubt; it is referred to in 1589 (perhaps in 1587) by Nash, in his Epistle prefixed k* 
Greene's .l/eTi^pAow, aiul again in 1596 by Lodge ( ICi/'js il/i-feTie o?;*/ ///c World's Madnesse), \thtiTe he 
alludes to " the vizard of the Ghost which cried so miserably at the Theater, like an oister wife, 
'Hamlet, revenge'." A German play on the subject of Hamlet exists which is supposed to have 
been acted by English players in Germany in 1603 ; the name Corambus appears in it ; and it is pos- 
sible that portions of the old pre-Shakespearean drama are contained in the German Hamlet. The 
old play may have been one of the bloody tragedies of revenge among which we find Tifns Androni- 
cus aud The Spanish Traced)/, and it would be characteristic of Shakespeare that he should refine 
the motives and spirit of the drama, soas to make the duty of vengeance laid upon Hamlet a jiainful 
burden which he is hardly able to support. Besides the old play of Hamlet, Shakespeare Lad prob- 
ably before him the prose Hi/storie of Hamhlet (though no edition exists e;irlier than 1608), translated 
from Belleforest's Histoircs Traaiqucs- The story Lad been told some hundreds of years previously 
in the Historia Danira of Saxo Grammaticus (about 1180-1208). The Hamlet of the llijstorie, after a 
fierce revenge, becomes King of Denmark, marries two wives, and finally dies in battle. 

No play of Shakespeare's has had a higher power of interesting spectators and readers, and none 
has given rise to a greater variety of conflicting interpretations. It has been rightly named a 
tragedy of tliought, and in this respect, as well as others, takes its place beside Julius (iesar. Neither 
Brutus nor Hamlet is the victim of an overmastering passion as are the chief persons of the later 
tragedies— e.r/. Othello, MaiOieth, Coriolanus. The burden of a tirrible duty is laid upon each of 
them, and neither is fittrd for bearing such a burden. Brutus is disqualified for action by his nuual 
idealism, his student-like habits, his capacity for dealing with abstractions rather thaii with men 
and things. Hamlet is disqualified for action by his excess of the reflective tendency, and by his 
unstable will, which alternates between complete inactivity and fits of excited energy'. Naturally 
sensitive, he receives a painf id shock from the hasty second maiTiage of his mother" ; already the 
springs of failh and joy iu his nature are embittered; then follows the terrible discovery of his 
father's mnrderj with the injunction laid upon him to revenge the crime ; upon this again follow 
the repulses which he receivis from Ophelia. .\ deep melancholy lays hold of Lis :-pirit, and all of 
life grows dark and sad to his vision. • Although hating his father's inurderer, he has little heait to 
push on his revenge. He is aware that he is suspected and surrounded by spies. Partly to baftie 
them, i>arlly to create a veil behind which to seclude his true self, partly because his wh<de moral 
nature is indeed deeply disordered, he assumes the part of one whose wits Lave gone astray. Except 
for one loyal friend, he is alone among enemies or supposed traitors. Ophelia he regards as no more 
loyal or honest to him than his mother had been to her dead husband. The ascertainment of Clau- 
duis's guilt by means of the play still leaves him incapable of the last decisive act of vengeaiu:e. 
Not so, however, with the king, who now recogniziii't his foe in Hamlet, does not delay to despatch 
him to a bloody death in England. But there is in Hamlet a terrible power of sudden and dcsjicrato 
action. From the melancholy which broods over him after the burial of Ophelia he rouses himself 
to the play of swords with Laertes, and at the last, with strength which leaps up before its final ex- 
tinction, he accomplishes the punishment of the malefactor. Horatio, with his fortitude, Ids seif- 
possession, his strong equanimity is a contrast to the Prince. And Laertes, who takes violent 
measures at the shortest notice to revenge his father's murder, is in another wav a contrast ; but 
Laertes is the young gallant of the period, and his capacity for action arises iu part from the absence 
of those moral checks of which Hamlet is sensible. Polonius is owner of the shallow wisdom of this 
world, and exhildts this grotesquely while now on the brink of dotage ; he sees, but cannot see 
through Hamlet's ironical mockery of him. Ophelia is tender, sensitive, affectionate, but the 
reverse of heroic; she fails Hamlet in his need, and then in her turn becoming Uie sufferer, gives 
way uader the preeeuie of lier atHictious. We do ugt liouor, we only commiserate her. 



646 



HAMLET. 



[Act 1. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Clactdius, king of Denmark. 

Hamlet, son to the late, and nephew to the 

present king. 
PoLONius, lord chamberlain. 
Horatio, friend to Hamiet. 
Laektes, son to Polonius. ' 
Voltimand, "1 
Cornelius, 
rosencrantz, 

GyiLDRNSTERN, 
OSRIC, 

A Gentleman, 
A Priest. 
Marcellxjs 
15 ernardo, 



' courtiers. 



offloers. 



Francisco, a soldier. 



Reynaldo, servant to Polonius. 

Plaj'Crs. 

Two Clowns, grave-diggers. 

Eortinbras, prince of Norway. 

A Captain. 

English Ambassadors. 

Gektkuoe, queen of Denmark, and mother 

to Hamlet. 
Ophelia, daughter to Polonius. 

Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Sailors, Mes- 
sengers, and other Attendants. 

Ghost of Hamlet's Father. 
Scene : Denmark. 



ACT L 

Scene I. Elsinore. A platform before the 
castle. 

Francisco at his post. Enter to him Ber- 
nardo. 

Ber. Who's there? 

Fran. Nay, answer me : stand, and unfold 

yourself. 
Bcr. Long live the king ! 
Fran. Bernardo ? 
Ber. He. 
Fran. You come most carefully upon your 

hoar. 
Ber. 'Tis now struck twelve ; get thee to 

bed, Francisco. 
Fran. For this relief much thanks : 'tis 
bitter cold, 
And I am sick at heart. 
B"r. Have you had quiet guard ? . 
Fran. D^ot a mouse stirring^ 10 

Ber. Well, good iMght. / 

If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, 
The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. 
Fran. I think I hear them. Stand, ho 1 
Who's there ? 

Enter Horatio and Marceli 

Hor. Friends to this ground. 

Har. And liegemen to tlie Dane. 

Fran. Give you good night. 

^far. O, farewell, honest soldier : 

Who hath relieved you ? 

Fran. Bernardo has my nlace. 

Give you good night. [Exit. 

Mar. Holla ! Bernardo ! 

Ber. Say, 

What, is Horatio there ? 

Hor. A piece of him. 

Ber. Welcome, Horatio : welcome, good 
Marcellus. 20 

Mar. What, has this thing appear'd again 
to-night ? 

Ber. I l^ve seen nothing. 



Mar. Horatio says 'tis but our fantasy, 
And will not let belief take hold of him 
Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us : 
Therefore I have entreated him along 
With us to watch the minutes of this night ; 
That if again this apparition come. 
He may approve our eyes and sjieak to it. 

Hor. Tush, tush, 'twill not appear. 

Ber. Sit down awhile ; 30 

And let us once again assail your ears. 
That are so fortified against our story 
What we-have two nights seen. 

H'>r. . Well, sit we down, 

And let us hear Bernardo speak of this. 

Ber. Last night of all, 
When yond same star tliat's westward from 

the pole 
Had made his course to illume that part of 

heaven 
Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself, 
The bell then beating one, — 

Enter Ghost. 

Mar. Peace, break thee off ; look, where 
it comes again ! 40 

Ber. In the same figure, like the king that's 
dead. 

Mar. Thou art a scholar ; speak to it, Hora- 
tio. 

Ber. Looks it not like the king ? mark it, 
Horatio. 

Hor. Most like : it harrows me with fear 
and wonder. 

Ber. It would be spoke to. 

Mar. Question it, Horatio, 

Hor. What ait thou that usurp' st this time 
of night, 
Together with that fair and warlike form 
In which the majesty of buried Denmark 
Did sometimes march ? by heaven 1 charge 
thee, speak ! 

Mar. It is offended. 

Ber. See, it stalks away ! 50 

Hor. Stay ! speak, speak ! I charge tliee, 
speak I - {Exit GkosC 



Scene i. 



HAMLET. 



647 



Mar. 'Tis gone, and will not answer. 
Ber. How now, Horatio ! .you tremble and 
look pale : 
Is not this sonietliin;4 more than fantasy ? 
W'hat tliink you on't ? 
Jlor. Before my God, I might not this be- 
lieve 
Without the sensible and true avouch 
Of mine own eyes. 
Mar. Is it not like the king ? 

Ilor. As thou art to tliyself : 
Such was the very armor he had on 60 

AVhen he the ambitious Norway combated ; 
So frown'd he once, when, in an angry parle, 
He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice. 
'Tis strange. 
Mar. Thus twice befoi'e, and jump at this 
dead hour. 
With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch. 
Hor. In what particular thought to' work I 
know not ; 
But in the gross and scope of my opinion. 
This bodes some strange eruption to our state. 
Mar Good now, sit down, and tell me, he 
that knows, 70 

Why this same strict and most observant watch 
So nightly toils the subject ot the land, 
And why such daily cast of brazen cannon. 
And foreign mart for imiilementsof war ; 
Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore 

task 
Does not divide the Siuulay from the week ; 
What might be toward, that this sweaty haste 
Doth make the night joint-laborer with the 

day : 
Who is't'that can inform me ? 

Hor. That can I ; 

At least, the whisper goes so. Our last Iviug, 
Whose image even but now ajjpear'd to us, 81 
Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway, 
Thereto pi'ick'd on by a most emulate pride. 
Dared to the combat ; in which our valiant 

Hamlet — 
For so this side of our known world esteem'd 

him — 
Did slay this Fortinbras ; who byaseal'd com- 
pact. 
Well ratified by law and heraldry, 
Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands 
Which he stood seized of, to the conqueror : 
Against the which, a moiety competent 90 
Was gaged by our king ; which had return'd 
To the inheritance of Fortinbras, 
Had he been vanquisher ; as, by the same 

covenant, 
And carriage of the aiticle design'd, 
His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, yoimg Fortin- 
bras, 
Of unimproved mettle hot and full. 
Hath in the skirts of Norway here and there 
Shark'd up a list ot lawless rcsohites, 
For food and diet, to some enterprise 
That hath a stomach in't ; which is no other — 
As it doth well appear unto our sfcite — 101 
But to recover of us, by strong liand 
Aud teriu^ .cojmpuh>utoiy, those foresaid lauds 



So by his father lost : and this, I take it, 
Is the main motive of our preparations, 
The;Bource of this our watc>: and the chief head 
Of iliis post-haste and ronuige in the land. 

Ber, I think it be no other but e'en so : 
Well may it sort that this portentous figure 
Conies armed through our watch ; so like the 
king 110 

That was and is the question of these ware. 

Ilor. A mote it is to trouble the mind's eye. 
In the most high and palmy state of Rome, 
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell. 
The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted 

dead 
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets : 
t As ,^tars with trains of lire and dews of blood, 
Disasters in the sun ; and the moist star 
Upon whose influence Ne)>tune's empire stands 
Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse : 120 
And even the like precurse of fierce events, 
As harbingers preceding still the fates 
And prologue to the omen coming on. 
Have heaven and earth togfether demonstrated 
Unto our climatures and countrymen. — 
But soft, behold ! lo, where it comes again ! 

Re-enter Ghost. 

I'll cross it, though it blast me. Stay, illusion! 

If thou hast any sound, or use of voice, 

Speak to me : 

If there be any good thing to be done, 130 

That may to thee do ease and grace to me. 

Speak to me : [Cock crows- 

If thou art privy to thy country's fate. 

Which, liappily, foreknowing may avoid, 

O, speak ! 

Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life 

Extorted treasure in the womb of earth. 

For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in 

death. 
Speak of it : stay, and speak ! Stop it, Mar- 
cellus. 

3Iar. Shall I strike at it with my partisan ? 

Hor. Do, if it will not stand. 141 

Ber. 'Tis here ! 

Hor. 'Tis here I 

Mar. 'Tis gone I [Exit Ghost. 

We do it wrong, being so majestical. 
To offer it the show of violence ; 
For it is, as the air, invulnerable. 
And our vain blows malicious mockery. 

Ber. It was about to speak, when the cock 
crew. 

Hor. And then it started like a guilty thing 
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard. 
The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn, 150 
Doth witli his lofty and shrill-sounding throat 
Awake the god of day ; and, at his warning, 
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air. 
The extravagant and erring spirit hies 
To his confine : and of the truth herein 
Tills present object made probation. 

Mnr. It faded on the crowing of the cock. 
Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes 
Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, 159 
The bixd oS dawuiuji ungetb all night long : 



648 



HAMLET. 



[Act t. 



And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad ; 
The iiights are wliolesorae ; then no planets 

strike, 
No fairy takes, nor witch hatli jjower to charm, 
So hallow'd and so gracious is the time. 
Hor. So have I heard and do in part he- 
lieve it. 
#Bat, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, 
yWalks o'er the dew of yon high eastward hill 
TSreak we our watch up ; and by juy advice " 
Let us impart what we have seen to-night 
Unto young Hamlet ; for, upon my life, 170 
This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him. 
Do you consent we sliall actpiaint him with it, 
A.S needful in our loves, fitting our duty '? 
Mar. Let's do't, I pray ; and I this morn- 
ing know 
Where we shall find him most conveniently. 

[_Exeimt. 

Scene II. A room of state in the castle. 

Enter the King, Queen, Hamlet, Polonius, 
Laertes, Voltimand, Cornelius, Lords, 
and Attendants. 

King. Though yet of Hamlet our dear bro- 
ther's death 
The memory be green, and that it us befitted 
To bear our liearts in grief and our whole 

kingdom 
To be contracted in one brow of woe, 
Yet so far hatli discretion fought with nature 
That we with wisest sorrow think on him. 
Together witli remembrance of ourselves. 
Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen, 
The imperial jointress to this warlike state 
Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joj', — 10 
With an auspicious and a dropi)ing eye. 
With mirth in funeral and with dirge in mar- 
riage. 
In equal scale weighing delight and dole, — 
Taken to wife : nor have we herein barr'd 
Your better wisdoms, wliicli have freelj- gone 
With this affair along. For all, our thanks. 
Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras, 
Holding a weak supposal of our worth. 
Or thinking by our late dear brother's death 
Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, 20 
CjUeagued witli the dream of his advantage, 
He hath not fail'd to pester us with message. 
Importing the surrender of those lands 
Lost by his fatlier, with all bonds of law, 
To our most valiant brother. So much for him. 
Now for ourself and for this time of meeting : 
Thus much the business is : we have here writ 
To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras, — 
Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely heai-s 
Of this his nephew's purpose, — to suppress 30 
His further gait herein ; in that the levies, 
The lists and full proportions, are all made 
Out of his subject : and we here dispatch 
You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand, 
For bearers of this greeting to old Norway 
Giving to you no fuither personal power 
To business with tlie king, more than the scope 
Of these delated articles aUow, 



Farewell, and let your haste commend your 
duty. 
Cor. ) in that and all things will we show 
Vol. I our duty. 40 

King. We doubt it nothing : heartilj' fare- 
well. 

{^Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius. 
And now, Laertes, what's the news with you? 
You told us of some suit ; wliat is't, Laertes ? 
You cannot speak of reason to the Dane, 
And loose your voice : what wouldstthou beg, 

Laertes, 
That shall not be my offer, riot thy asking ? 
The head is not more native to the heart. 
The hand more instrumental to the mouth. 
Than is the throne of Dennuirk to thy father. 
What wouldst thou have, Laertes- ? 

Laer. ■ My dread lord, 60 

Your leave and favor to return to France ; 
From whence though willingly I came to Den- 
mark, 
To show my duty in your coronation. 
Yet now, I must confess, that duty done. 
My thoughts and wishes bend again toward 

France 
And bow them to your gracious leave and 
pardon. 
King. Have j'ou your father's leave ? What 

says Polonius ? 
Pol. He hath, my lord, wi'ung from me my 
slow leave 
By laborsome petition, and at last 
Ujion his will I .'-.eal'd my hard consent : 60 
I do beseech you, give him leave to go. 
King. Take thy f .air hour, Laertes ; time be 
thine, 
And thy best graces sjiend it at thy will ! 
But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son, — 
Ham. [Aside] \AJjttle more than kin, and 

less than kiii37\ 
King. _ How is it tlisft the clouds still hang 

on you f^ 
Ham. Not so, my lord ; I am too much i' 

the sun. 
Queen. Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted color 
off, 
And let thine eye look like a friend on Den- 
mark. 
Do not for ever with thy vailed lids 70 

Seek for thy noble father in the dust : 
Thou know'st 'tis common ; all that lives must 

die. 
Passing through nature to eteruitj'. 
Ham. Ay, madam, it is common. 
Queen. It it be, 

Why seems it so particular with thee V 
Ham. Seems, madam ! nay it is ; I know 
not 'seems.' 
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, 
Nor customary suits of solemn black. 
Nor windy suspiration of forced breath. 
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, 80 

Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage, 
Together with all forms, moods, shapes of 

grief. 
That can denote me truly : these indeed seem. 



Scene ii.] 



HAMLET. 



649 



For they are actions that a man might play : 
But I have that within whicli passeth show ; 
These but tlie trappings and the suits of woe. 
Kin;/. 'Tis sweet and commendable in your 

nature, ILuiilet, 
Til give these mourning duties to your father : 
But, you must know, your fatlier lost a father ; 
That father lost, lost his, and the survivor 

bound 90 

In filial obligation for some term 
To do obsequious sorrow : but to persever 
lu obstinate condolenient is a course 
Of impious stubbornness ; 'tis unmanly grief ; 
It shows a will most incorrect to heaven, 
A lieart unfortified, a mind impatient, 
An undersfcmding simple and unschool'd : 
For what we know must be and is as common 
As any the most vulgar thing to sense, 
Why should we in our peevish ojiposition 100 
Take it to heart ? Fie ! 'tis a fault to heaven, 
A fault against the dead, a fault to nature, 
To reason most absurd : whose common theme 
Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried. 
From the finst corse till he that died to-day, 
'This must be so.' We pray you, throw to 

earth 
This unprevailing woe, and think of us 
As of a father : for let the world take note. 
You are the most immediate to our throne ; 
And with no less nobility of love 110 

Than that which dearest father bears his sou. 
Do I impart toward you. For your intent 
In going back to school in Wittenburg, 
It is most retrograde to our desire : 
And we beseech you, bend you to remain 
Here, in the clieer and comfort of our eye. 
Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son. 
Queen. Let not thy mother lose lier prayers, 

Hamlet: 
I pray thee, stay with us ; go not to Wittenberg. 
Hum. I shall in all my best obey you, 

madam 
Kind. Why, 'tis a loving and a fair reply : 
Be as ourself in Denmaik. Madam, come ; 
This gentle and unforced accord of Hamlet 
Sits smiling to my heart : in grace whereof. 
No jocund healtli that Denmark drinks to-day, 
But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell, 
Aud the king's rouse the heavens shall bruit 

again, 
, Re;^eaking earthl J' thunder. Come away. 
i/""^ [Exeunt all hut Ilamht. 

Ham, 0, that this too too solid flesh would 

melt, 
Thaw and resolve itself into a dew ! 130 

Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd 
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter ! O God! God! 
How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable, 
Seem to me all the uses of this world ! 
Fie on't ! ah fie ! 'tis an unwceded garden. 
That grows to seed ; things rank and gross in 

nature 
Possess it merely. That it should come to this ! 
But two mouths dead : nay, not so much, not 

two : 
go excellent a king ; that was, to tliis, 139 



Hyperion to a satyr ; so loving to my mother 
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven 
Visit her face too roughlj . Heaven aud eartli ! 
Must 1 remember ? why, she would hang on 

him. 
As if increase of appetite had grown 
By what it fed on : aud ;jet, within a month — 
Let me not think on't-rFrailty, thy name is 

woman !^— '^ 

A little month, or ere those shoes were old 
With which she foUow'd my poor father's 

body, 
Like Niobe, all tears : — why she, even she — 
U God ! a beast, that wants discourse of rea- 
son, 150 
Would have mourn'd longer — married with my 

uncle. 
My father's brother, but no more like my father 
Than 1 to Hercules : within a month : 
Ere yet tlie salt of most unrighteous tears 
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes. 
She married. 3, most wicked speed, to post 
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets ! 
It is not nor it cannot come to good : 
But break, my heart ; for I must hold my 
tongue. 

Enter Hoeatio, JIakceli-us, and Bernardo, 

Hor. Hail to your lordship ! 

Ham. I am glad to see you well : 160 

Horatio, — or I do forget" myself. 

Hor The same, my lord, aud your poor 
servant ever. 

Ham. Sir, my good friend ; I'll change that 
name with you : [tio ? 

And what make you from Wittenberg, Hora- 
Marcellus ? 

Mar. My good lord — 

Ham. I am very glad to see you. Good 
even, sir. 
But what, in faith, make you from AVittenberg? 

Hor. A truant disposition, good mv lord. 

Ham. I w(nild not hear your enemy say so, 
Xor shall you d<) mine ear that violence, 171 
To n.ake it truster of your own report 
Against your.self : I know you are no truant 
But what is your affair m Elsinore ? 
We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart. 

Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's 
funeral. 

Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow- 
student ; 
I think it was to see my mother's wedding. 

Hor. Indeed, my lord, itfollow'd hard ujion. 

Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio ! tlie funeral 
baked meats 180 

Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. 
Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven 
Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio ! 
My fatlier !— methinks I .«ee my father. 

Hor. Where, my lord ? 

Hum. In my mind's eye, Horatio. 

Hor. I saw him once ; he was a goodly 
king. 

Ham. ,,He was a man, fcike him for all in all, 
I shall not look upon his like agaia 



/isj 



650 



BAMLET. 



[Ac* J. 



Sor. My lord, I think I saw him yester- 
night. 

Ham. Saw? who? 190 

Hor. . My lord, the king your father. 

Ham. The king my father 1 

Hor. Season your admiration for awliile 
Witli an attent ear, till I may deliver, 
Upon tlie witness of these gentlemen, 
This marvel to you. 

Ham. For God's love, let me hear. 

Hor. Two nights together had these gen- 
tlemen, 
Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch. 
In the dead vast and middle ot the night. 
Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your 

father. 
Armed at point exactly, cap-a-pe, 200 

Appears before them, and with solemn march 
Goes slow and stately by them : thrice he 

walk'd 
By their oppress'd and fear-surprised eyes, 
Within his truncheon's length ; whilst they, 

distilled 
Almost to jelly with the act of fear. 
Stand dumb and speak not to him. This to me 
In dreadful secrecy impart they did ; 
And I with them the third night kept the 

watch ; 
Where, as they had deliver'd, botli in time. 
Form of tlie thing, each word made true and 
good, 210 

The apparation comes : I knew your father ; 
These hands are not more like. 

Ham. But where was this ? 

Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we 
watch' d. 

Ham. Did you not speak to it ? 

Hor. My lord, I did ; 

But answer made it none : yet once methought 
It lifted up its head and did address 
Itself to motion, like as it would speak ; 
But even then the morning cock crew loud, 
And at the sound it shrunk in haste away, 
And vanish'd from our sight. 

Ham. "lis very strange. 220 

Hor. As I do live, my honor'd lord, 'tis 
true ; 
And we did think it writ down in our duty 
To let you know of it. 

Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles 
me. 
Hold you the watch to-night ? 

^^,!'' I "We do, my lord. 

Ham. Arm'd, say you ? 

^«;; } Arm'd, my lord. 

Ham,. From top to toe ? 

5^r ' 1 ^y ^°^^' ^""^"^ ^'^^^ *° ^^°^ 

Ham,. Then saw you not his face ? 

Hor. O, yes, my lord ; he wore his beaver 

np. 230 

Ham,. Wliat, look'd he frowningly ? 
Hor. A countenance more in sorrow than 

ip anger. 



Ham. Pale or red ? 
Hor. Nay, very pale. 

Ham. And fix'd his eyes upon you ? 

Hor. Most constantly. 
Ham. I would I had been there. 

Hor. It would have much amazed you 
Ham,. Very like, very like. Stay'd it iong ? 
Hor. While one vrith moderate haste might 
tell a hundred. 

;^^^; j Longer, longer. 

Hor. Not when I saw't. 

Han),. His beard was grizzled, — no ? 240 

Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, 
A sable silver' d. 

Ham. I will watch to-night ; 

Perchance 'twill walk again. 

Hor. I warrant it will. 

Ham. If it assume my noble father's per- 
son, 
I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape 
And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all, 
If you have hitlierto couceal'd this sight, 
Let it be tenable in your silence still ; 
And whatsoever else shall hap to-night. 
Give it an understanding, but no tongue : 260 
I will requite your loves. So, fare you well : 
Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, 
I'll visit you. 

All. Our duty to your honor. 

Ham. Your loves, as mine to you : fare- 
well. [Exeunt all but Hamlet. 
My father's spirit in arms ! all is not well ; 
I doubt some foul play: would the night 

were come ! ; 

Till then sit stiU, my soul :vfouI deeds will 

rise, 
Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to 
men's eyes. > [Exit, 



Scene HI. A room in Polonius' house^r 
Enter Laektes and Ophelia. 

Laer. My necessaries are embark'd : fare- 
well : 
And, sister, as the winds give benefit 
And convoy is assistant, do not sleep, 
But let me hear from you. 

Oph. Do you doubt that ? 

Laei: For Hamlet and the trifling of his 
favor, 
Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood, 
A violet in the youth of primy nature. 
Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, 
The perfume and supphance of a minute ; 
No more. 

Oph. No more but so ? 

Laer. Think it no more : 10 

For nature, crescent, does not grow alone 
In thews and bulk, but, as this temple waxes. 
The inward service of the mind and soul 
Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you 

now. 
And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch 
The virtue of his will : but you must fear, 
His greatness weigh' d, hig w^l is not his own; 



SCEKB III.] 



HAMLfT. 



061 



For he himself is subject to his birth : 
He may not, as unvalued persous do, 
Carve for himself ; for on his choice depends 
The safety aud health of this whole state ; 21 
And therefore must his choice be circum- 
scribed 
Dnto the voice and yielding of that body 
Whereof he is the head. Then if he says he 

loves you, 
It fits your wisdom so far to believe it 
As he in his particular act and place 
May give his saying deed ; which is no fur- 
ther 
Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal. 
Then weigh what loss your honor may sus- 
tain, 
If with too credent ear you list his songs, 30 
Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure 

open 
To his unuiaster'd importunity. 
Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister, 
Aud keep you in the rear of your affection, 
Out of the shot and danger of desire. 
The chariest maid is prodigal enough. 
If she unmask her beauty to the moon : ' 
Virtue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes: 
The canker galls the infants of the spring. 
Too oft before their buttons be disclosed, 40 
And iu the morn and liquid dew of youth 
Contagious blastments are most imminent. 
Be wary then ; best safety lies in fear : 
Ibuth to itself rebels, though none else near. 
Oph. I shall the effect of this good lesson 
keep, 
As watcliman to my heart. But, good my 

brother. 
Do not, as some ungracious pastors do, 
Show me the steep and thorny way to heav- 
en ; 
Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine. 
Himself the itrimrose path of dalliance treads, 
•, And recks not his own rede. 51 

^ Laer. 0, fear me not. 

I stay too long : but here my father comes. 

Enter Polonius. 

A double blessing is a double grace ; 
Occasion smiles upon a second leave. 
Pol. Yet here, Laertes ! aboard, aboard, 
for shame ! 
The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail. 
And you are stay'd for. There ; my blessing 

with thee f 
And these few precepts in thy memory 
See thou character. Give thy thoughts no 

tongue. 
Nor any unproportioned thought his act. 60 
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. 
Those friends thou hast, and their adoption 

tried. 
Grapple them to thy soul Avith hoops of steel ; 
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade. Be- 
ware 
Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in, 
Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee. 



Qive every man thy ear, but few thy voice ; 
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy 

judgment. 
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, TO 

But not express'd in fancy ; rich, not gaudy ; 
For the apparel oft proclaims the man, 
And they in France of the best rank and sta- 
tion 
t Are of a most select and generous chief in 

that. 
Neither a borrower nor a lender be ; 
For loan oft loses both itself and friend, 
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 
This above all : to thine ownself be true, 
A»d it must follow, as the night the day, 
Tliou canst not then be false to any man. , 80 
Farewell : my blessing season this in thee ! 
Laer. Most humbly do I take my leave, my 

lord. 
Pol. The time invites you ; go ; your serv- 

vauts tend. 
Laer. Farewell, Ophelia ; and remember 
well 
What I have said to you. 

Oph. , ■ "f is in my memory lock'd, 

And you yourself shall keep the key of it. 
lAier. Farewell. [Exit. 

Pol. What is't, Ophelia, he liath said to 

you? 
Oph. So please you, something touching 

the Lord Hamlet. 
Pol. Marry, well bethought : 90 

'Tis told me, he hath very oit of late 
Given private time to you ; and you yourself 
Have of your audience been most free and 

bounteous : 
If it be so, as so 'tis put on me, 
And that in way of caution, I must tell you. 
You do not understand yourself so clearly 
As it behoves my daughter and your honor. 
What is between you ? give mekUji the truth. 
Oph. He hath, my lord, of late made many 
tenders 
Of his affection to me. 100 

Pol. Affection ! pooh ! you speak like a 
green girl, 
Unsifted in such perilous circumstance. 
Do you believe his tenders, as you call them ? 
Oph. I do not know, my lord, what I should 

think. 
Pol. Marry, I'll teach you : think yourself 
a baby ; 
That you have ta'en these tenders for true 

pay, 
Which are not sterling. Tender yourself 

more dearly ; 
Or — not to crack the wind of the poor phrase, 
Running it thus — you'll tender me a fool. 
Oph. My lord, he hath importuned me 
with love 110 

In honorable fashion. 
Pol. Ay, fashion vou may call it ; go to, go 

to. 
Oph. And hatli given countenance to his 
speech, my lord, 
With almost all the holy vows of heaven. 



652 



HAMLET. 



[Act I. 



Pol. Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do 
know, 
When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul 
Lends the tongue vows : these blazes, daugh- 
ter. 
Giving more light than heat, extinct in both. 
Even in tlieir promise, as it is a-making. 
You must not take lor fire. From this time 
Be somewhat scauter of your maiden pres- 
ence ; 121 
Set your entreatments at a higher rate 
Than a command to parlev. For Lord Ham- 
let, 
Believe so much in him, that he is young 
And with a larger tether may he walk 
Than may be given you : in few, Ophelia, 
Do not believe his vows ; for they are brokers, 
Not of that dye which their investments show. 
But mere implorators of unlioly suits. 
Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds, 
The better to beguile. This is for all : 131 
I would not, in plain terms, from this time 

forth. 
Have you so slander any moment leisure, 
As to give words or talk with the Lord Ham- 
let. 
Look to't, I charge you : come your ways. 
Oph,. I shall obey, my lord. [Exeunt. 

\ Scene IV. The platform. 

Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus. 

Ham. The air bites shrewdly ; it is very 

cold. 
Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air. 
Ham. What hour now ? 
Hor. I think it lacks of twelve. 

Ham. No, it is struck. 
Hor. Indeed ? I heard it not : then it draws 
near the season 
Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. 

[A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance 
shot off, within. 
What does this mean, my lord ? 

Ham. The king doth wake to-night and 
takes his rouse, 
Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring 

reels ; 
And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish 
down, 10 

The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out 
The triumph of his pledge. 
Hor. Is it a custom ? 

Ham. Ay, marry, is't : 
But to my mind, though I am native here 
And to the manner born, it is a custom 
More honor' d in the breach than the observ- 
ance. 
This heavy-headed revel east and west 
Makes us traduced and tax'd of other nations : 
They clepe ns drunkards, and with swinish 

phrase 
Soil our addition ; and indeed it takes 20 

From our achievements, though perform' d at 

height. 
The pith and marrow of our attribute. 



So, oft it chances in particular men, 

That for some vicious mole of nature in them, 

As, in their birth — wherein they are not 

guilty, 
Since nature cannot choose his origin^ 
By the o'ergrowth of some complexion. 
Oft breaking down the pales and forts of rea- 
son. 
Or bj' some habit that too much o'er-leavens 
The form of plausive manners, that these 
men, 30 

Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect. 
Being nature's livery, or fortune's .star, — 
Their virtues else — be they as pure as grace. 
As infinite as man may undergo — 
Shall in the general censure take corruption 
From that particular fault : the dram of feale 
Doth all the noble substance jof a doubt 
To his own scandal. 
Hor. Look, my lord, it comes ! 

Enter Ghost. 

Ham. Angels and ministers of grace de- 
fend us ! 
Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd. 
Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts 
from hell, 41 

Be thy intents wicked or charitable. 
Thou comest in such a questionable shape 
That I will speak to thee : I'll call thee Ham- 
let, 
King, father, royal Dane : 0, answer me ! 
Let me not burst in ignorance ; but tell 
Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death. 
Have burst their cerements ; why the sepul- 
chre, 
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd. 
Hath ojjed his ponderous and marble jaws, 50 
To cast thee i;p again. What may this mean. 
That thou, dead corse, again in complete .steel 
Revisit' st thus the glimpses of the moon, 
Making night hideous ; and we fools of nature 
So horridly to sliake our disposition 
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our 

souls ? 
Say, why is this ? wherefore ? what should 
we do ? [Ghost beckons Hamlet. 

Hor. It beckons you to go away with it, 
As if it some impartment did desire 
To you alone. 

Mar. Look, with what courteous action CO 
It waves you to a more removed ground : 
But do not go with it. 

Hor. No, by no means. 

Ham. It will not speak ; then I will follow 
it. 

Hor. Do not, my lord. 

Ham. Why, what should be the fear ? 

I do not set my life at a pin's fee ; 
And for my soul, what can it do to that. 
Being a thing immortal as itself? 
It waves me forth again : I'll follow it. 

Hor. Wliat if it tempt you toward the flood, 
my lord. 
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff 70 

"That beetles o'er his base into the sea. 



Scene v.] 



HAMLET. 



653 



And there assume some other horrible form, 
Which might deprive your sovereignty of 

reason 
And draw you into madness ? think of it : 
Tlie very place puts toys of desperation, 
Without more motive, into every brain 
That looks so many fathoms to the sea 
And hears it roar beneath. 

Ham. It waves me still. 

Go on ; I'll follow thee. 

Mar. You shall not go, my lord. 

Ham. Hold off your hands. 80 

Hor. Be ruled ; you shall not go. 

Hain. My fate cries out. 

And makes each petty artery in this body 
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve. 
Still am I call'd. Unhand me, gentlemen. 
By he.aven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets 

me ! 
I Bay, away ! Go on ; I'll follow thee. 

[Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet. 

Hor. He waxes desperate witli imagination. 

Mar. Let's follow ; 'tis not fit thus to obey 
him. 
■ Bbr. Have after. To what issue will this 
come ? 

Mar. Something is rotten in the state of 
DeTimark. > 90 

Hor. Heaven yt'ill direct it. 

Mar. ^ \ Nay, let's follow him. [Exeunt. 



ENE v. Another part of the platform. 
Enter Ghost and Hamlet. 

Ham. Where wilt thou lead me ? speak ; 
ru go no further. 

Ghost. Mark me. 

Ham. I wilL 

Ghost. My hour is almost come, 

When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames 
Must render up myself. 

Ham. Alas, jjoor ghost ! 

Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious 
hearing 
To what I shall unfold. 

Ham. Speak ; I am bound to hear. 

Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou 
shalt hear. 

Ham. What ? 

Ghost. I am thy father's spirit, 
Doom'd for p. certain term to walk the night, 
And for the day confined to fast in fires, 11 
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature 
Are burnt and purged away. But that I am 

forbid 
To tell the secrets of my prison-house, 
I could a tale unfold whose lightest word 
Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young 

blood, 
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their 

apneres, 
Thy knotted and combined locks to part 
And each particular hair to stand on end, 
Like quills upon the fretful jiorpentine : 20 
But this eternal blazon must not be 
To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list ! 



If thou didst ever thy dear father love — 
Ham. O God ! 
Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural 

murder. 
Ham. Murder ! 

Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it 
is ; 
But this most foul, strange and unnatural. 
Ha7n. Haste me to know't, that I, with 
wings as swift 
As meditation or the thoughts of love, 30 

May sweep to my revenge. 

Ghost. I find thee apt ; 

And duller should,«t thou be than the fat weed 
That roots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, 
Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, 

hear : 
'Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard, 
A serpent stung me ; so the whole ear of Den- 
mark 
Is by a forged process of my death 
Raukly abused : but know, thou noble youth, 
The serpent that did sting thy father's life 
Now wears his crown. 

Ham. O my prophetic soul ! 40 

My uncle ! 

Ghost. Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate 
beast, 
With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous 

gifts,— 
O wicked wit and gifts, that have the power 
So to seduce ! — won to his shameful lust 
The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen : 

Hamlet, what a falling-ol'f was there ! 
From me, whose love was of that dignity 
That it went hand in hand even with the vow 

1 made to her in marriage, and to decline 60 
Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor 
To those of mine ! 

But virtue, as it never will be moved. 
Though lewdness court it in a shai)e of heaven, 
So lust, though to a radiant angel liuk'd, 
Will sate itself in a celestial bed. 
And prey on garbage. 

But, soft ! methinks I scent the morning air ; 
Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard, 
My custom always of the afternoon, 60 

Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole. 
With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial. 
And in the porches of my ears did pour 
The leperous distilment ; whose effect 
Holds such an enmity with blood of man 
That swift as quicksilver it courses through 
The natural gates and alleys of the body. 
And with a sudden vigor it doth posset 
And curd, like eager droppings into milk, 
The thin and wholesome blood : .so did it mine; 
And a most instant tetter bark'd about, 71 
Most lazar-like, witli vile and loathsome crust, 
All my smooth body. 

Tlius was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand 
Of life, of crown, of queen, at once dispatch'd: 
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, 
Unhousel'd, disappointed, nnanel'd. 
No reckoning made, but sent to my account 
With all my imperfections on my head : 



^54 



HAMLET. 



tAcT 1. 



0, horrible ! 0, horrible ! most horrible ! 80 
If tlioLi hast nature iu thee, bear it not ; 
Let not the royal bf d of Denrhark be 
A couch for luxury and damned incest. 
But, howsoever thou pursuestthis act. 
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive 
Against thy mother aught : leave her to heaven 
And to those tliorns that iu her bosom lodge. 
To priclc and sting her. Fare thee well at 

once ! 
The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, 
And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire : 90 

Adieu, adieu ! Hamlet, remember me. {Exit. 
Ham. O all you host of heaven ! earth ! 

whaJt else ? 
And shall 1 couple hell ? 0, fie ! Hold, hold, 

my heart ; 
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old. 
But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee ! 
Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a 

seat 
In this distracted globe. Remember thee ! 
Yea, from the table of my memory 
I'll wipe away all trivial fond records. 
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, 
That youtli and observation copied there ; 101 
And thy commandment all alone shall live 
Within the book and volume of my brain, 
Uumix'd with baser matter : yes, by heaven ! 
O most perpicious woman ! 

villain, villain, smiling, damned villain ! 
My tables, — meet it is I set it down, 

Tliat one may smile, and smile, and be a vil- 
lain ; 
At least I'm sure it may be so in Denmark : 

[ Writing. 
So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word ; 
It is ' Adieu, adieu ! remember me.' Ill 

1 have sworn 't. 

Hor' \ t ^*''"'"] ^ly lo^<i' ™y lord,— 

Mar. [ Within'] Lord Hamlet, — 

Hor. [ Withi)i] Heaven secure him ! 

Ham. So be it ! 

Hor. [ Within] Hillo, ho, ho, my lord ! 

Ham. Hillo, ho, ho, boy ! come, bird, come. 

Enter Hokatio and Marcellus. 

Mar. How is't, my noble lord ? 
Hor. What news, my lord ? 

Ham. 0, wonderful .' 
Hor. Good my lord, tell it. 

Ham. No ; you'll reveal it. 
Hor. Not I, my lord, by heaven. 
Mar. Nor I, my lord. . 120 

Ham. How say you, then ; would heart of 
man once think it ? 
But you'll be secret ? 

^^^^j; I Ay, by heaven, my lord. 

Ham. There's ne'er a villain dwellmg in 
all Denmark 
But he's an arrant knave. 
Hor. There needs no ghost, my lord, come 
from the grave 
To tell us this. 



Ham. Why, right ; you are i' the right ; 
And so, without more circumstance at all, 
I hold it fit that we shake hands and part : 
You, as your business and desire shall point you; 
For every man has business and desire, 130 
Such as it is ; and for mine own poor part, 
Look you, I'll go pray. 

Hor. These are but wild and whirling words, 
my lord. 

Ham. I'm sorry they offend you, heartily ; 
Yes, 'faith heartily. 

Hor. There's no offence, my lord. 

Ham. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, 
Horatio, 
And much offence too. Touching this vision 

here. 
It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you : 
For your desire to know what is between us, 
O' er master 't as you may. And now, good 
friends, 140 

As you are friends, scholars and soldiers, 
Give me one poor request. 

Hor. What is't, my lord ? we will. 

Ham. Never make known what you have 
seen to-night. 

Mar I ^y ^°^*^' ^® ^^ °°*- 

Ham. Nay, but swear 't. 

Hor. In faith, 

My lord, not I. 

Har, Nor I, my lord, in faith. 

Ham. Upon my sword. 

Mar. We have sworn, my lord, already. 

Ham. Indeed, upon my sword, indeed. 

Ghost. [Beneath] Swear. 

Ham. Ah, ha, boy ! say'st thou so ? art 
thou there, truepenny ? 150 

Come on— you hear this fellow in the cellarage- 
Consent to swear. 

Hor. Propose the oath, my lord. 

Ham. Never to speak of this that you have 
seen. 
Swear by my sword. 

Ghost. [Beneath] Swear. 

Ham. Hie et ubique ? then we'll shift our 
ground. 
Come hither, gentlemen. 
And lay your hands again upon my sword : 
Never to speak of this that you have heard, 
Swear by my sword. 160 

Ghost. [Beneath] Swear. 

Hatn. Well said, old mole ! canst work i' 
the earth so fast ? 
A worthy pioner ! Once more remove, good 
friends. 

Hor. O day and night, but this is wondrous 
strange ! 

Ham. And therefore as a stranger give n; 
welcome. 
There are more things in heaven and earth, 

Horatio, 
Than are dreamt of in your philosopl^r. 
But come ; 

Hero, as before, never, so help you mercy, 
How strange or odd soe'er I bear myself, 170 
As I perchauce hereafter shaU think meet 



Scene t. 



HAMLET. 



653 



To put an autic disposition on, 
That you, at such times seeing me, never shall. 
With arms eucumber'd tlius, or tliis head- 
shake, 
Or by pionouncing of some doubti'ul phrase, 
As 'Well, well, we know,' or 'AVe could, an 

if we would,' 
Or ' If we list to speak,' or ' There be, an if 

they might,' 
Or such ambiguous giving out, to note 
That you know aught of me : this not to do. 
So grace and mercy at your most need help 
you, 180 

Swear. 

Ghost. [Beneath] Svrear. 
JIum. Rest, rest, perturbed spirit ! [ They 
swear.] So, gentlemen. 
With all my love I do commend me to you : 
And what so poor a man as Hamlet is 
May do, to express his love and friending to 

you, 
God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in to- 
gether ; 
And still your fingers on your lips, I pray. 
The time is out of joint : O cursed spite. 
That ever I was born to set it right ! 
Nay, come, let's go together. [Exeunt. 190 



ACT II. 



Scene I. A room in Polonius' house. 
Enter Polonius and Reynaldo. 
Pol. Give him this money and tliese notes, 

Reynaldo. 
Rey. i will, my lord. 

Fol. You shall do marvellous, wisely, good 
Reynaldo, 
Before you visit him, to make inquire 
Of his behavior. 
Rey. My lord, I did intend it. 

Pol. Marry, well said ; very well said. 
Look you, sir. 
Inquire me first what Danskers are in Paris ; 
And how, and who, what means, and where 

they keep. 
What company, at what expense ; and finding 
By this encompassment and drift of question 
Tliat they do know my son, come you more 
nearer 11 

Than your particular demands will touch it : 
Take you, as 'twere, some distant knowledge 

of him ; 
As tluis, ' I know bis father and his friends. 
And in part him : ' do you mark this, Rev- 
naldo ? 
Rerj. Ay, very well, my lord. 
Pol. ' And in part him ; but' you may say 
' not well : 
But, if 't be he I mean, he's very wild ; 
Addicted so and so : ' and there put on niin 
What forgeries you please ; marrv, none so 
rank ' 20 

As may dishonor him ; take heed of that ; 
But, 6ir, such wanton, wild and usual slips 



As are companions noted and most known 
To youth and liberty. 

Rey. As gaming, my lord. 

Pol. Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, 
quarrelling, 
Drabbing : you may go so far. 

Rey. My lord, that would dishonor him. 

Pol. 'Faitli, no ; as you may season it in 
the charge 
You must not put another scandal on him, 
That he is open to incontinency ; ."0 

That's not my meaning: but breathe his faults 

so quaintly 
That tliey may seem the taints of liberty, 
The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind, 
A savageness in unreclaimed blood. 
Of general assault. 

Rey. But, my good lord, — 

Pol. W^herefore should you do this ? 

Rey. Ay, my lord, 

I would know that. 

Pol. Marry, sir, here's my drift; 

And, I believe, it is a fetch of wit : 
You laying these slight sullies on my son. 
As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' the working, 
]\Iark you, 41 

Your party in converse, him you would sound. 
Having ever seen in the prenomiuate crimes 
The youth you breatlie of guilty, be assured 
He closes with you in this consequence ; 
' Good sir,' or so, or ' friend,' or ' gentleman.' 
According to the phrase or the addition 
Of man and country. 

Rey. Very good, my lord. 

Pol. And then, sir, does he this — he does — 
what was I about to say ? By the mass, I was 
about to say something : where did I leave ? 

Rey. At ' closes in the consequence,' at 
'friend or so,' and ' gentleman.' 

Pol. At ' closes in the consequence,' ay, 
marry ; 
He closes thus : ' I know the gentleman ; 
I saw hiin yesterday, or t' other day, 
Or then, or then ; with such, or such ; and, as 

you say, 
There was a' gaming ; there o'ertook in's 

rouse ; 
There falling out at tennis : ' or perchance. 
' I saw him enter such a house of sale,' 60 
Videlicet, a brothel, or so forth. 
See you now ; 

Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth: 
And thus do we of wisdom and of reacli. 
With windlasses and with assays of bias, 
By indirections find directions out : 
So by my former lecture and advice. 
Shall you mv son. You have me, have you 
"not? 

Rey. My lord, I have. 

Pol. God be wi' you ; fare you well. 

Rey. Good my lord ! 70 

Pol. Observe his inclination in yourself. 

Rey. I shall, my lord. 

Pol. And let him ply his musir. 

Rey. Well, my lord. 

Pol. Farewell. \ExU RevnaidOk 



656 



CAMLET. 



[Act II. 



Enter Ophelia. 
How now, Ophelia ! what's the matter ? 

Oph. 0, my lord, my lord, I have been so 
affrighted ! 

Pol. With what, i' the name of God ? 

Oph. My lord, as I was sewing in my 
closet. 
Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced ; 
No hat upon his head ; his stockings foiil'd, 
Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ancle ; 80 
Pale as his shirt ; his knees knocking each 

other ; 
And with a look so piteous in purport 
As if he had been loosed out of hell 
To speak of horrors, — he comes before me. 

Pol. Mad for thy love ? 

Opli. My lord, I do not know ; 

But truly, I do fear it. 

Pol. What said he ? 

Oph. He took me by the wrist and held me 
hard ; 
Then goes he to the length of all his arm ; 
And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow. 
He falls to such perusal of my face 90 

As he would draw it. Long stay'd he so ; 
At last, a little shaking of mhie arm 
And thrice his head thus waving up and down. 
He raised a sigh so piteous and profound 
As it did seem to shatter all his bulk 
And end his being : that done, he lets me go ; 
And, witli Ills head over his shoulder turn'd. 
He seem'd to find his way without his eyes ; 
For out o' doors he went without their helps. 
And, to the last, bended their light on me. 100 

Pol. Come, go with me : I will go seek 
the king. 
This is the very ecstasy of love. 
Whose violent property fordoes itself 
And leads the will to desperate undertakings 
As oft as any passion under heaven 
That does afflict our natures. I am sorry. 
What, have you given him any hard words of 
late ? [command, 

Oph. No, my good lord, but, as you did 
I did repel his letters and denied 
His.access to me. 

Pol. That hath made him mad. 110 

I am sorry that with better heed and judg- 
ment [fle, 
I had not quoted liim : I fear'd he did but tri- 
And meant to wreck thee ; but, beshrew my 

jealousy ! 
By heaven, it is as proper to our age 
To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions 
As it is common for the younger sort 
To lack discretion. Come, go we to the king : 
This must be known ; which, being kept close, 

might move 
More grief to hide than hate to utter love. 

/ " , , 1 [Exe^int. 

^' .' ' Scene II. Ar^om in the castle. 
Enter King, Queen, Rosencrant'z, Guild- 
ENSTERN, and Attendants. 

Kfng. Welcome, dear Rosencrantz and 
Guildensteru 1 



Moreover that we much did long to see you, 
The need we have to use you did provoke 
Our hasty sending. Something have you heard 
Of Hamlet's transformation ; so call it, 
Sith nor the exterior nor the inward man 
Resembles that it was. What it should be. 
More than his father's death, tliat thus hath 

put him 
So mucli from the understanding of himself, 
I cannot dream of : I entreat you both, 10 
That, being of so young days brought up with 

him. 
And sith so neighbor'd to his youth and lia- 

vior, 
That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court 
Some little time : so by your companies 
To draw him on to pleasures, and to gatlier, 
So much as from occasion you may glean, 
Whether aught, to us unknown, afflicts him 

thus. 
That, open'd, lies within our remedy. 

Queen. Good gejitlemen, he hath much 
talk'd of you ; 
And sure I am two men there are not living 
To whom he more adheres. If it will please 
you 21 

To show us so much gentry and good will 
As to expend your time with us awhile, 
For the supply and i^rofit of our hOpe, 
Your visitation shall receive such thanks 
As fits a king's remembrance. 

Bos. Both your majesties 

Might, by the sovereign power you have of us, 
Put your dread pleasures more into command 
Than to entreaty. 

Guil. But we both obey. 

And here give up ourselves, in the full bent 
To lay our service freely at your feet, 31 

To be commanded. 
King. Tlianks, Rosencrantz and gentle 

Guildensteru. 
Queen. Thanks, Guildensteru and gentle 
Rosencrantz : 
And I beseech you instantly to visit 
]My too much changed son. Go, some of you,' 
And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is. 
Guil. Heavens make our presence and our 
practices 
Pleasant and helpful to him ! 

Queen. Ay, amen ! 

[Exeunt Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and 
some Attendants. 

Enter Polonius. 

Pol. The ambassadors from Norway, my 
good lord, 40 

Are joyfully return'd. 
King. Thou still hast been the father of 

good news. 
Pol. Have I, my lord ? I assure my good 
liege, 
I hold my duty, as I hold my soul, 
Both to my God and to vaj gracious king : 
And 1 do think, or else this brain of mino 
Hunts not the trail of policy so sore 
As it hath used to do, that I have foUBd 



Scene ii.] 



HAMLET. 



657 



The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy. 
Kinn. O, speak of that ; that do I long to 
'hear. 50 

Pol. Give first admittance to the ambassa- 
dors ; 
My news shall be the fruit to that gi-eat feast. 
Kimj. Thyself do grace to them, and bring 
"them in. {Exit Pohmiuft. 

He tells me, my dear Gertrude, he hath found 
The head and source of all your sou's dis- 
temper. 
Queen. I doubt it is no other but the main ; 
His father's death, and our o'erhasty mar- 
riage. 
Kinrj. Well, we shall sift him. 

Re-enter Polonius, loith Voltimand and 
Coi'^nelius. 

AVelcome, my good friends ! 
Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Nor- 
way ? 

Volt. Most fair return of greetings and 
desires. 60 

Upon our first, he sent out to suppress 
His nephew's levies ; which to him appear'd 
To be a preparation 'gainst the Polack ; 
But, better look'd into, he truly found 
It was against your highness : whereat grieved, 
Tliat so "his sickness, age and impotence 
Was falsely borne in hand, sends out arrests 
On Fortinbras ; which he, in brief, obeys ; 
Receives rebulve from Norway, and in fine 
Makes vow before his uncle never more 70 
To give tlie assay of arms against your majesty. 
Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy, 
Gives him three thou.sand crowns in annual fee. 
And liis commission to employ those soldiers. 
So levied as before, against the Polack : 
With an entreaty, herein further shown, 

[Gwing a paper. 
Tliat it might i)lease you to give quiet jmss 
Through your dominions for this enterprise, 
On such regards of safety and allowance 
As therein are set down.' 

Kinri. It likes us well ; 80 

And at our more consider'd time we'll read, 
Answer, and think upon this business. 
Meantime we thank you for your well-took 

labor : 
Go to your rest ; at night we'll feast together : 
Most welcome home ! 

[Exeunt Voltimand and Corneliits. 

Pol. Tliis busine.ss is well ended. 

My liege, and madam, to expostulate 
What majesty should be, what duty is. 
Why day is day, night night, and time is time, 
Were nothing but to waste night, day and time. 
Therefore, since brevity is tlie soul of wit, . IK) 
And tediousuess tlie liinbs and outward flour- 
ishes, 
I will be brief : your noble son is mad : 
Mad call I it ; for, to define true madness. 
What is't but to be nothing else but mad ? 
But let tliat go. 

Queen. More matter, with less art. 

Pol. Madam, I swear I use no art at all. 



That he is mad, 'tis true : ftis true 'tis pity ; 
And pity 'tis 'tis true :) a fColish figure ; 
But farewell it, for I will use no art. 
Mad let us grant liim, then : and now remains 
That we find out tlie cause of tliis eft'ect, 101 
Or rather say, the cause of this defect, 
For this effect defective comes by cause : 
Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. 
Perpend. 

I have a daughter — have while she is mine— 
Who, in her duty and obedience, mark, 
Hath given me this : now gather, and surmise. 

[Eead.s. 
' To tlie celestial and my soul's idol, the most 
beautified Ophelia,' — 110 

That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase ; ' beautified ' 
is a vile phrase : but you shall hear. Thus : 

[Rends. 
' In her excellent white bosom, these, &c.' 
Queen. Came this from Hamlet to her ? 
I'ol. Good madam, staj"^ awhile ; I will be 
faithful. [Reads. 

' Doubt thou the stars are fire ; 
Doubt that the sun doth move ; 
Doubt truth to be a liar ; 
But never doubt I love. 119 

' dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers ; 
I have not art to reckon my groans : but that 
1 love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu. 
'Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst 
this machine is to him, Hamlet.' 
This, in obedience, hath my daughter shown 

me. 
And more above, hath his solicitings, 
As tliey fell out by time, by means and place, 
All given to mine ear. 

King. But how hath she 

Received his love ? 
Pol. What do you tliink of me ? 

Kinr/. As of a man faithful and honorable. 
Pol. I would fain prove so. But what might 
you think, 131 

When I had seen this hot love on the wing- 
As I perceived it, I must tell you that. 
Before my daughter told me — what might you, 
Or my dear niajosty your quocu here, thiiik, 
If I had (ilay'd the desk or table-book, 
Or given my heart a winking, mute and dumb. 
Or look'd ujion this love with idle sight ; 
Wliat might you think ? No, I went round to 

work, 
And my young niLstress thus I did bespeak : 
' Lord Hamlet is a prince, out of thy star ; 141 
This must not be : ' and then I precepts gave 

her. 
That she should lock herself from liis resort, 
Admit no messengers, receive no tokens. 
Wliich done, she to< Ic the iruitsof my advice ; 
And he, repulsed — a short tale to make — 
Fell into a sadness, then into a fast, 
Tlience to a watcli, thence into a weakness. 
Thence to a lightness, iind, by tliis declension, 
Into the madness wherein now he raves, 150 
And all we mourn for. 
Kinr/. Do you think 'tis this ? 

Queen. It may "be, very likely. 
42 



668 



HAMLET. 



[Act II. 



Pol. Hath tliere been such a time — I'd faiu 
know that — 
That I liave positively said ' 'Tis so,' 
Wlieu it proved otherwise ? 
Kiny. Not that I know. 

Pol. [Pointi7ig to his head and shoulder'] 
Take this from this, if tliis be otherwise: 
If circumstances lead me, I will find 
Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed 
Within the centre. 
King. How may we try it further ? 

Pol. You know, sometfmes he walks four 
hours together 160 

Here in the lobby. 

Queen. So he does indeed. 

Pol. At such a time I'll loose my daughter 
to him : 
Be you and I behind an arras then ; 
Mark the encounter : if he love her not 
And be not from his reason fall'n thereon, 
Let me be no assistant for a state, 
But keep a farm and carters. 
King. We will try it. 

Queen. But, look, where sadly the poor 

wretch comes reading. 
Pol. Away, I do beseech you, both away : 
I'll board him presently. 

[Exeunt King, Queen, and Attendants. 

Enter Hamlet, reading. 

0, give me leave: 170 
How does my good Lord Hamlet ? 
Ham. Well, God-a-mercy. 
Pol. Do you know me, my lord ? 
Ham. Excellent well ; you are a fishmonger. 
Pol. Not I, my lord. 

Then I would you were so honest a 



Ham,. 
man. 
Pol. 
Ham 



Honest, my lord ! 
Ay, sir ; to be honest, as this world 
goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thou- 
sand. 

Pol. That's very true, my lord. 180 

Ham,. For if the sun breed maggots in a 
dead dog, being a god kissing carrion, — Have 
you a daughter ? 

Pol. I liave, my lord. 

Hum. Let her not walk i' the sun : concep- 
tion is a blessing : but not as your daughter 
may conceive. Friend, look to 't. 

Pol. [Asidel How say you by that ? Still 
harping on my daughter : yet he knew me 
not at first ; he said I was a fishmonger : he 
is far gone, far gone : and truly in my youth 
I suffered much extremity for love ; very near 
this. I'll speak to him again. What do you 
read, my lord ? 

Ham. Words, words, words. 

Pol, What is the matter, my lord ? 

Ham. Between who? 

Pol. I mean, the matter that you read, my 
lord. 

Ham,. Slanders, sir ■ for the satirical rogue 
Bays here that old men have grey beards, that 
their faces are wrinkled, their eyes purging 
thick amber and plum-tree gum and that they 



have a plentiful lack of wit, together with 
most weak hams : all which, sir, though I 
most powerfully and potently believe, yet I 
hold it not honesty to have it thus set down, 
for yourself, sir, shoul(^ be old as I am, if like 
a crab you could go bacmvard. 

Pol. l^Asidc'] Though this be madness, yet 
there is metliod in 't. Will you walk out of 
the air, my lord ? 

Ham. Into my grave. 210 

Pol. Indeed, that is out o' the air. [Aside] 
How pregnant sometimes his replies are! a 
happiness that often madness hits on, which 
reason and sanity could not so prosperously be 
delivered of. I will leave him, and suddenly 
contrive the means of meeting between him 
and my daughter. — My honorable lord, I will 
most humbly take my leave of you. 

Ham. You cannot, sir, take from me any 
thing that I will more willingly part witlial : 
except my life, except my life, except my life. 

Pol. Fare you well, my lord. 

Ham. These tedious old fools ! 

Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 

Pol. You go to seek the Lord Hamlet •, 
there he is. 

Ros. [To Polonius] God save you, sir ! 

[Exit Polonius. 

Guil. My honored lord ! 

Bos. My most dear lord ! 

Ham. My excellent good friends ! How dost 
thou, Guildenstern ? Ah, Rosencrantz ! Good 
lads, how do ye both ? 230 

Eos. As the indifferent children of the earth. 

Guil. Happy, in that we are not over-happy ; 
On fortune's cap we are not the very button. 

Ham. Nor the soles of her shoe ? 

Eos. Neither, my lord. 

Hain. Then you live about her waist, or in 
the middle of her favors ? 

Gail. 'Faith, her privates we. 

Ham. In the secret parts of fortune ? 0, 
most true ; she is a strumpet. What's the uews? 

Eos. None, my lord, but tliat the world's 
grown honest. 241 

Ham. Then is doomsday near : but your 
news is not true. Let me question more in 
particular : what have you, my good friends, 
deserved at the hands of fortune, that she sends 
you to prison liither ? 

Guil. Prison, my lord ! 

/7am. Denmark's a prison. 

Eos. Then is the world one. 250 

Ham. A goodly one ; in which there are 
many confines, wards and dungeons, Denmark 
being one o' the worst. 

Eos. We thinic not so, my lord. 

Ham. Why, then, 'tis none to you ; for 
tliere is nothing either good or bad, but think- 
ing makes it so : to me it is a prison. 

Eos. Why then, your ambition makes it one; 
'tis too narrow for your mind. 259 

Ham. O God, I could be bounded in a nut- 
shell and count myself a king of infinite space, 
were it not that I nave bad dreams. 



ScEMB tl.] 



BAMLET, 



659 



Guil. Which dreams indeed are ambition, 
for tlie very substance of tlie ambitious is 
merely the shadow of a dream. 

Ham. A dream itself is but a shadow. 

Rox. Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy 
and light a quality that it is but a shadow's 
shadow. 

Ham. Then are our beggars bodies, and our 
monarchs and outstretched heroes the beggars' 
shadows. Shall we to the court ? for, by my 
fay, I cannot reason. 

^^•^ I We'll wait upon you. 

Ham. No such matter : I will not sort you 
with the rest of my servants, for, to speak to 
you lilce an honest man, I am most dreadfully 
attended. But, in the beaten way of friend- 
ship, what make you at Elsinore ? 

Ros. To visit you, my lord ; no other occa- 
sion. 

Ham. Beggar that I am, I am even poor in 
thanks ; but I thank you : and sure, dear 
friends, my thanks are too dear a halfpenny. 
Were you not sent for ? Is it your own inclin- 
ing ? Is it a free visitsition ? Come, deal 
justly with me : come, come ; nay, speak. 

Gnil. What should we say, my lord ? 

Ham. Why, any thing, but to tlie purpose. 
You were sent for ; and there is a kind of con- 
fession in your looks which your modesties 
have not craft enough to color : I know the 
good king and queen have sent for you. 291 

Ros. To what end, my lord ? 

Ham. That you must teach me. But let 
me conjure you, by the rights of our fellow- 
ship, by the consonancy of our youth, by the 
obligation of our ever-preserved love, jiiid by 
what more dear a better proposer could charge 
you withal, be even and direct with me, 
whether von were sent for, or no ? 

Ros. (Aside to Gull.] What any yon? 300 

Ham. [Atikle] Nay, then, I have an eye of 
you.— If you love me, hold not off. 

Guil. My lord, we were sent for. 

Ham. I will tell you why ; so shall my anti- 
cipation prevent your discovery, and your 
secrecy to the king and queen moult no leather. 
I have of late — but wherefore I know not — 
lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exer- 
cises ; and indeed it goes so heavily with my 
disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, 
seems to me a sterile promontory, this most 
excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave 
o'erhanging firmament, this 'majestical roof 
fretted with golden lire, why, it appears no 
other thing to me than a foul and pestilent 
congregation of \'apors. \WJiat a piece of 
work is a man \ how noble in reason! how 
infinite in faculty ! in form and moving how 
express and admirable ! in action how like an 
angel ! in apprehension how lilce a god ! tho^ 
beauty of the world ! the i)aragon of animals ! 
And yet, to me, what is this quintessence o[, 
dust ? man delights not me : no, nor woman 
neither, though by your smiling you seem to 
say so. 



Eos. My lord, there was no such stuff in 
my thoughts. 

Ham. Why did you laugh then, when I 
said ' man delights not me ' ? 

Ros. To think, my lord, if you delight not 
in man, what lenten entertainment the players 
shall receive from you : we coted them on the 
way ; and hither are they coming, toofferyou 
service. 

IFam. He that plays the king shall be wel- 
come ; his majesty shall have tribute of me ; 
the adventurous knight shall use his foil and 
target ; the lover shall not sigh gratis ; the 
humorous man shall end his part in peace ; the 
clown shall make those laugh whose lungs are 
tickled o' the sere ; and the lady shall say her 
mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt for't. 
What players are they ? 340 

Ros. P^ven those you were wont to take de- 
light in, the tragedians of the city. 

Ham. How chances it they travel ? their 
residence, both in reputation and profit, was 
better both ways. 

Ros. I think their inhibition comes by the 
means of the late innovation. 

Ham. Do they hold the same estimation 
they did when I was in the city ? are they so 
followed ? 350 

Ros. No, indeed, are they not. 

Ham. How conies it ? do they grow rusty? 

Ros. Nay, their endeavor keeps in the 
wonted i)ace : but there is, s;r, an aery of chil- 
dren, little eyases, that cry out on the top of 
question, and are most tyrannically clapjied 
for't : these are now the fashion, and so be- 
ratile the common stages — so they call them— 
that many wearing rapiers are nfraid of goose- 
quills and dare scarce come thither. 360 

Ham. What, are they childi'en ? who main- 
tains 'em ? how are they escoted ? Will thej' 
pursue the quality no longer than they can 
sing ? will they not say afterwards, if they 
should grow themselves to common jihiyers — 
as it is mo.st like, if their means are no better 
— their writers do them wrong, to make them 
exclaim against their own succession ? 

Ros. 'Faith, there has been much to do on 
both sides ; and the nation holds it no sin to 
tarre them to controversy : there wiis. for a 
while, no money bid for argument, nnless the 
poet and the player went to cuffs in the ques- 
tion. 

Ham. Is 't possible ? 

Gail. 0, there has been much throwing 
about of brains. 

Hmn. Do the boys carry it away ? 

Ros. Ay, that they do, my lord ; Hercules 
and his load too. 379 

Ham. It is not very strange ; for mine uncle 
is king of Denmark, and those that would 
make mows at him \\ hilc my fiitlicr lived, give 
twenty, foriy, fifty, an hundred ducats a-])icce 
for hisi)i('tnro in little. 'Sblood, there is some- 
thing in this more than natural, if philosophy 
could find it out; 

[^lowish of tnimpets within. 



660 



HAMLET. 



[Act It. 



Guil. There are the players. 

Ham. Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsi- 
nore. Your hands, come then : the appur- 
tenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony : 
let me comply with you in this parb, lest my 
extent to the players, which, I tell you, must 
show fairly outward should more appear like 
entertainment than yours. You are welcome : 
but my uncle-father and aunt-mother are de- 
ceived. 

Gull. In what, my dear lord ? 

Ham. I am but mad north-north-west : 
when the wind is southerly I know a hawk 
from a handsaw.' 

Enter Polonixts. 

Pol. Well be with you, gentlemen ! 

Ham. Hark you, Guildensteru ; and you 
too : at each ear a liearer : that great baby 
you see there is not yet out of his swaddling- 
clouts. 

Ros. Happily lieVthe second time come to 
them ; for they say an old man is twice a 
child. ^- 

Ham. J I \^ill prophesy he comes to tell me 
of the players ; mark it. You say right, sir : 
o' Monday morning ; 'twas so indeed. 

Pol, My lord, I have news to tell j^ou. 

Ham. My lord, I have news to tell you. 
When Roscius was an actor in Rome, — 410 

Pol. The actors are come hither, my lord. 

Ham. Buz, buz ' 

Pol. Upon mine honor,— 

Ham. Then came each actor on his ass. — 

Pol. The best actors in the world, either 
for tragedy, comedy, hist(jry, pastoral, pas- 
toral-comical, historical-i)astoral, tragical-his- 
torical, tragical - comical - liistorical - pastoral, 
scene individable, or poem unlimited : Seneca 
cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus too light. 
For the law of writ and the liberty, these are 
the only men. 421 

Ham. O Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a 
treasure hadst thou ! 

Pol. What a treasure had he, my lord ? 

Hayn. Why, 
' One fair daughter and no more, 

The which he loved passing well.' 

Pol. [Aside] Still on my daughter. 

Ham. Am I not i' tlie riglit, old Jephthah ? 

Pol. If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I 
have a daughter tliat I love jiassing well. 431 

Ham. Nay, that follows not. 

Pol. What follows, tlien, my lord ? 

Ham. Why, 

'As by lot, God wot,' 
and then, you know. 

' It came to ]iass, as most like it was,' — 
the first row of the pious chanson will show 
_you more ; for look, where m.y abridgement 
comes. 

Enter four or five Players. 
You are welcome, masters ; welcome, all. I 
am glad to see thee well. Welcome, good 
friends. O, ray old friend ! thy face is val- 
anced since I saw thee last : comest thou to 



beard me in Denmark ? What, my young lady 
and mistress ! By'r lady, your ladyship is 
nearer to heaven than when I saw you last, by 
the altitude of a chopine. Pray God, your 
voice, like a piece of uncurrent gold, be not 
cracked within the ring. Masters, you are all 
welcome. We'll e'en to't like French falcon- 
ers, fly at any thing we see : we'll have a 
speech straight : come, give us a taste of your 
quality ; come, a passionate speech. 
J^lrst Play. What speech, my lord ? 
f Ham. I heard thee speak me a speech once, 
^but it was never acted ; or, if it was, not above 
once ; for the play, I remember, pleased not 
the million ; 'twas caviare to the general : but 
it was — as I received it, and others, whose 
judgments in such matters cried in the top of 
mine — an excellent play, well digested in the 
scenes, set down with as much modesty as 
cunning. I remember, one said there were no 
sallets in tlie lines to make the matter savory, 
nor no matter in the phrase that might indict 
the author of affectation ; but called it an 
hone.st method, as wholesome as sweet, and by 
very much more handsome than fine. One 
speech in it I chiefly loved : 'twas .Eneas' tale 
to Dido ; and thereabout of it especially, 
where he speaks of Priam's slaughter : if it 
live in your memory, begin at this line : let 
me see, let me see — 471 

' The rugged Pyrrhus, like tlie Hyrcanian 

beast,' — 
it is not so : — it begins with Pyrrhus : — 
'The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms. 
Black as his purpose, did the night resemble 
When lie lay couched in the ominous liorse, 
Hath now this dread and black complexion 

smear'd 
With heraldry more dismal ; head to foot 
Now is he total gules ; horridly trick'd 
With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, 

sons. 
Baked and impasted with the parching 

streets. 
That lend a tyrannous and dannied light 
To their lord's murder : roasted in wrath 

and fire, 
And thus o'er-sized with coagulate gore, 
With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyr- 
rhus 
Old grandsire Priam seeks.* 
So, proceed you. 

Pol. 'Fore God, my lord, well spoken, witTl 
good accent and good discretion. 

First Play. ' Anon he finds him 

Striking itoo short at Greeks ; his antique 

sword, 
Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls, . 
Repugnant to command : unequal match'd, 
Pyrrhus at Priam drives ; in rage strikes 

wide ; 
But with the whiff and wind of his fell 

sword 
The unnerved father falls. Then senseless 

Ilium, 
Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top 



!?CENB 11.] 



HAMLET. 



G61 



Stoops to his base, and with a liideous crash 
Takes prisouer Pyrrhus' ear : for, lo 1 his 

sword, 
Wliich was declining on the millty head 500 
Of reverend Piiain, seem'd i' the air to 

stick : 
So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrlius stood, 
And like a neutial to his will and matter, 
Did nothing. 

But, as we often see, against some storm, 
A silence Id the heavens, the rack stand still, 
Tiie bold wnids speechless and the orb be- 
low 
As hush as death, aiion the dreadful thunder 
Doth rend the region, so, after Pyrrhus' 

pause, 500 

Aroused vengeance sets him new a-work ; 
And never did the Cyclops' hammers fall 
On Mars's armor forged for proof eterne 
With less remorse than Pyrrhus' bleeding 

sword 
Now falls on Priam. 
Out, out, thou strumpet, Fortune 1 All you 

gods, 
In general synod, take away her power ; 
Break all the spokes and fellies from her 

wheel, 
And bowl the round nave down the hill of 

heaven, 
As low as to the fiends .' * 
Pol. This is too long. 520 

Ham. It shall to the barber's, with your 
beard. Prithee, say on • he's for a jig or a 
tale of bawdry, or he sleeps ; say on : come to 
Hecuba. 

First Play. ' But who, O. who had seen the 
mobled queen — ' 
Ham. ' The mobled queen ? ' 
Pol. That's good ; ' mobled queen ' is good. 
First Play. ' Run barefoot up and down, 

threatening the flames 
With bissoii rheum ; a clout upon that head 
Where late the diadem stood, and for a robe, 
AtK)nt her lank and all o'er-teemed loins, 
A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up ; 
Who this had seen, with tongue in venom 

steep'd, 
'Gainst Fortune's state would treason have 

pronounced : 
But if the gods themselves did see her then 
When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious 

sport 
In mincing with his sword ber husband's 

limbs, 
The instant burst of clamor that she made. 
Unless things mortal move them not at all, 
Would have made milch the burning eyes of 

heaven, 540 

And passion in the gods.' 
Pol. Look, whether he has not turned his 
color and has tears in's eyes. Pray you, no 
more. 

Ham. 'Tis well ; I'll have thee speak out 
the rest soon. (?ood my lord, will you see the 
players well bestowed ? Do von hestr, let them 

W well used ; for tbey are tbe abstract an^ 



brief chronicles of the time : after your death 
you were better have a bad epitaph than their 
ill report while you live. 551 

Pol. My lord, I will use them according to 
their desert. 

Ham. God's bodykins, man, much better : 
use every man alter his desert, and who 
should 'scape whipping ? Use them after your 
own honor and dignity : the less they deserve, 
the more merit is in your bounty. Take them 
in. 

Pol. Come, sirs. 55S 

Ham. Follow him, friends : we'll hear a 
play to-morrow. {E.rit Polonius v;ith all 
the Players but the Fir.'<t.] Dost thou hear 
nie, old friend ; can you play the Murder of 
Gonzago ? 

First Pla. Ay, my lord. 

Ha7n. We'll ha't to-morrow night. You 
could, for a need, study a sijeech of some dozen 
or sixteen lines, which I would set down and 
insert in't, could you not ? 

First Play. Ay, ray lord. 569 

Hatn. Very well. Follow that lord ; and 
look you mock him not. [Exit First J'/aijir.'] 
My good friends, I'll leave you till night: you 
are welcome to Elsinore. 

Bos. Good my lord ! 

Ham. Ay, so, God be wi' ye ; [Exeunt 
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.] Now I am 

alone. 
O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I ! 
Is it not monstrous that this player here. 
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion. 
Could force his soul so to his own conceit 
That from her working all his visage wann'd. 
Tears in his eyes, distraction in's asjiect, 581 
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting 
With forms to his conceit ? and all for nothing 1 
For Hecuba ! 

What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, 
That he should weep for her ? What would 

he do, 
Had he the motive and the cue for passion 
That I have ? He would drown the stage with 

tears 
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech, 
Make mnd the guilty and ajjpal the free, 5f)0 
Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed 
The very faculties of eyes and ears. 
Yet I, 

A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak, 
Like John-a-drearas, uni)regnant of my cause, 
And can say nothing ; no, not for a king, 
Upon whose i)roperty and most dear life 
A damn'd defeat was made. Am 1 a coward? 
Who calls me villain ? breaks my pate across? 
Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face ? 
Tweaks me bv the nose ? gives me the lie i' 
the thro.at, 600 

As deep as to the lungs ? who does me this ? 
Ha ! 

'Swounds, I should take it : for it cannot be 
But I am pigeou-liver'd and lack gall 
To make oppression bitter, or ere this 

I should have fatted all the regioo kites 



662 



HAMLET. 



tAcT III. 



With this slave's offal : bloody, bawdy villain ! 
Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kiudless 

villain ! 
0, vengeunce 5 - 610 

AVhv, what an ass am I ! This is most brave. 
That I, tlie son of a dear father murder'd, 
Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, 
Blast, like a whore, unpack my heart with 

words. 
And fall a-cursing, like a very drab, 
A scullion ! 
Fie upon't! foh ! About, my brain ! I have 

heard 
That guilty creatures sitting at a play 
Have by the very cunning of the scese 
Been struck so to the soul that presently 620 
They have proclaim'd their malefactions ; 
For murder, though it have no tongue, Avill 

speak 
With most miraculous organ. I'll have these 

players 
Play something like the murder of my father 
Before mine uncle: I'll observe his looks ; 
I'll tent him to the quick: if he but blench, 
1 know my course. The spirit that I have seen 
May be the devil : and the devil hath power 
To assume a pleasing shape ; yea, and perhaps 
Uut of my weakness and my melancholy, 630 
As he is very potent with such spirits, 
.\ i)!ises me to damn me: Fll have grounds 
More ' alive than this : the play 's tho thing 
AVhereiu I'll catch the couscieuce of the king. 

[Exit. 



ACT in. 



Scene I. A room in the castle. 
Enter King, Queen, Folonius, Ophelia, 

ROSENCKANTZ, Ulld GUILDENSTERN. 

Kinrj. And can you, by no drift of circum- 
stance, 
Get from him why he puts on this confusion, 
(Jrating so harshly all his days of quiet 
Witli turbulent and dangerous lunacy ? 
Ros. He does confess he feels himself dis- 
tracted ; 
But from what cause he will by no means 
speak. 
Gvil. Nor do we find him forward to be 
sounded, 
But, with a crafty madness, keeps aloof, 
When we would bring him on to some confes- 
sion 
Of his true state. 

Queen. Did he receive you well ? 10 

Ros. Most like a gentleman. 
Guil. But with mucli forcing of his dispo- 
sition. 
Ros. Niggard of questiou ; but. of our de- 
mands. 
Most free in his reply. 

Queen. Did you £issi5|.y Ijim 

To (iny pastime ? 



Ros. Madam, it so fell out, that certain 
players [him ; 

We o'er-raught on the way: of these we told 
And there did seem in him a kind of joy 
To hear of it : they are about the court. 
And, »s I think, they have already order 20 
This night to jDlay before him. 

Pol. 'Tis most true: 

And he beseech'd me to entreat your majesties 
To hear and see the matter. 
King. With all my heart ; and it doth much 
content me 
To hear him so inclined. 
Good gentlemen, give him a further edge, 
And drive his purpose on to these delights. 
Ros. We shall, my lord. 

[Exeunt Rosencrantz. and Guildenstern. 
King. Sweet Gertrude, leave us too; 

For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither, 
That hg, :',s 'twere by accident, may here 30 
Affront Ophelia: 

Her father and myself, lawful espials, 
Will so bestow ourselves that, seeing, unseen, 
We may of their encounter frankly judge, 
And gather by him, as he is behaved, 
If 't be the affliction of his love or no 
That thus he suffers for. 

Queen. I shall obey you. 

And for yonr part, Ophelia, I do wish 
That your good beauties be th<! happy cause 
Of Hamlet's wiklness: so shall I hope your 
virtues 40 

Will bring him to his wonted way again, 
To both yonr honors. 

Oph. Madam, I wish it mny. [Exit Queen. 
Pol. Ophelia, walk you here. Gracious, so 
please you, 
We will bestow ourr^elves. [To Ophelia] Read 

on this book ; 
That show of f-ucli an exercise may color 
Your loneliness. Wearci-oft to blame in this, — 
'Tis too much proved4-that with devotion's 

visage V^ 

And pious action we do sugar o'er 
The devil himself. ] 

King. [Aslde-..]JD, 'tis too true! 
How smart a lash that speech doth give my 
conscience ! 50 

The harlot's cheek, beautied with plastering 

art. 
Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it 
Than is my deeil to my most painted word: 
O heavy burthen ! 
Pol. I hear him coming : let's withdraw, 
my lord. [Exeunt King and Polonius 

Enter Hamlet. 

Ham. To be, or not to be : that is the 
questi/)U : 
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. 
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 
And by opposing end them ? -To die : to sleep ; 
No more ; and by a sleep to say we end 61 
The heart-ache' aud th9 thOUSftnd Mtwre^l 

shocks 



Scene i.] 



HAMLET. 



663 



Tliat flesh is lieir to, 'tis a consummation 
Devout^^ bo be wish'd. To die, to sleep ; 
To slee-? : perchance to dream: ay, there's 

tlie rub ; 
For in tliat sleep of death what dreams may 

come 
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 
Must give us pause : there's the respect 
That makes calamity of so long life ; 
For who would bear the whips and scorns of 
time, 70 

The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's con- 

tuuiely, 
Tlie pangs of despised love, the law's delay, 
The insolence of office and the spurns 
That patient merit of the unworthy takes, 
When he hiuiself might his quietus nuike 
Witii a bare bodkin ? who would fardels bear. 
To grunt and sweat under a weary life, 
But that the dread of something after death, 
-'Tlie undiscovei'd country from whose bourn 
Ni> traveller returns, puzzles the will 80 

And makes us rntlier bear those ills we have 
Tiian fly to otlieis that we know not of ? 
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; 
And tluis the native hue of resolution 
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, 
And ontcrjn-ises of great pith and moment 
VVitli tliis regard their currents turn awry. 
And lose tlie name of action. — Soft you now! 
The fair Ophelia ! Nymph, in thy orisons 
Be all iuy sins remember'd. 

Oph Good my lord, 00 

How does your honor for this many a day ? 

Ilaia. I humbly thank you ; well, well, 
well. 

Optt^ My lord, I liave remembrances of 
yours, 
r»jat [ have longed long to re-deliver ; 
I pras" you, now receive them. 

Jlani. No, not I ; 

I never gave you aught. 

Opk. My honor'd lord, you know right well 
you did ; 
And, with them, words of so sweet breath com- 
posed 
As made the things more rich : their perfume 

lost, 
Take these again ; for to the noble mind 100 
Kich gifts wax poor when givers prove uukmd- 
There, my lord. 

Ham. Ha, ha ! are you honest? 

Oplu My lord ? 

Ilam. Are you fair ? 

Oph. What means your lordship ? 

Ilam. That if you be honest and fair, your 
honesty should admit no discourse to your 
beauty. 

Oph. Could beauty, my lord, have better 
commerce than with honesty ? 110 

Ham. Ay, truly; for the i)Ower of beauty 
will sooner tiansform honesty from what it la 
to a bawd than the force of honesty can trans- 
late beauty into bis likeness : this was some- 
time a parados, but now the tiioQ giY*'!^ jt 

proof, i did l9ve you 9W§, 



Oph. Indeed, my lord, you made me believe 
so. 

Ham. You should not have believed me; 
for virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock 
but we shall relish of it : I loved you not. 120 

Oph. I was the more deceived. 

Ham. Get thee to a nunnery: why wouldst 
thou be a breeder of sinners ? I am myself 
indifferent honest ; but yet I could accuse me 
of such things that it were better my mother 
had not borne me : I am very proud, revenge- 
ful, ambitious, with more offences at my beck 
than I have thoughts to put them in. imagina- 
tion to give them shape, or time to act them 
in. What should such fellows as I do crawling 
between eartli and heaven ? We are arrant 
knaves, all ; believe none of us. Go thy ways 
to a nunnery. Where's your father ? 

Oph. At home, my lord. 

Ham. Let tlie doors be shut upon him, that 
he may play the fool no where but in's own 
house. Farewell. 

Op/i. 0, help him, you sweet heavens ! 

Ham. If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this 
plague for thy dowry :/be thou as chaste as ice,, 
as i)ure as snow, thou .J^^ilt not escape calumny, j 
Get thee to a nunnery, go : farewell. Or, if 
thou wilt needs marry, man-y a fool ; for wise 
men laiow well enough what monsters you 
make of them. To a nunnery, go, and quickly 
too. Farewell. 

Oph. O heavenly ]iowers, restore him ! 

Ham, I have heard of your paintings too, 
well enough; God has given you one face, and 
you make yourselves another: you jig, you 
amble, and you lisp, and nick-name God's crea- 
tures, and make your wantonness your ignor- 
ance. Go to, I'll no more on't ; it hath made 
me mad. I say, we will h:ive no more mar- 
riages : those that are married already, all but 
one, shall live; the rest shall keep as thev are. 
To a nunnery, go. [Exit. 

Oph. O, what a noble mind is here o'er- 
thrown ! 
The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, 

sword ; 
The expectancy and rose of the fair state, 160 
The glass of fiishion and the mould of form, 
The observed of all observers, quite, quite 

down I 
And I, of ladies most deject and wretched. 
That suck'd the honey of his nuisic vows. 
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, 
Like sweet bells jangled, out of tunc and harsh ; 
That unmatch'd form and feature of blown 

youth 
Blasted with ecstasy : 0, woe is me. 
To liave seen what I have seen, see what I see! 

Re-enter King and Polonius. 

Kin//. Love ! his affections do not that way 
tend ; 170 

Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a 
little, 

W»i§ pot like madjiegs. Tb^r^'e eoroething iji 



664 



HAMLET. 



[Act III. 



O'er which his melancholy sits on brood ; 
And I do doubt the hatch and the disclose 
Will be some dan;;'er : which for to prevent, 
I have in quick determination 
Thus set it down : he shall with speed to Eng- 
land, 
For the demand of our neglected tribute : 
Hapl^' the seas and countries different 
With variable objects shall expel 180 

This something-settled matter in his heart, 
Whereon his brains still beating puts him thus 
From fashion of himself. What think you on't? 

Pol. It shall do well : but yet do f believe 
The origin and commencement of his grief 
Sprung from neglected love. How now, Ophe- 
lia ! 
You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said ; 
We heard it all. My lord, do as you please ; 
But. if you hold it fit, after the play 189 

Let his queen mother all alone entreat him 
To show his grief : let her be round with him; 
And I'll be placed, so please j'ou, in the ear 
Of all their conference. If she find him not. 
To England send him, or confine him where 
Your wisdom best shall think. . 

King. It shall be so : ^ 

Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go. 

. , \^Exeunt. 

\^^^OENE II. A hall in the castle. 
' Enter Hamlet and Plaj^ers. 

Ham. Speak the speech, I pray yon, as I 
pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue : 
but if you mouth it, as many of your players 
do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. 
Nor do not saw the air too much with' your 
hand, thus, but use all gently ; for in tiie very 
torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, the whirl- 
wind of passion, you must acquire and beget a 
temperance that may give it smoothness. O, 
it oiTends me to the soul to hear a robustious 
periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, 
to very rags, to split the ears of the ground- 
lings, who for the most pait are capable of 
nothing but inexplicable dumb-shows and 
noise : I would have such a fellow whipped 
for o'erdoing Termagant ; itont-herods Herod: 
pray you, avoid it. 

First Plaij. I warrant your honor. 

Ham. Be not too tame neither, but let your 
own disci'etion be your tutor ; suit the action 
to the word, the word to the action ; with this 
special observance, that you o'erstep not the 
modesty of nature; for any thing so overdone 
is from the purpose of playing, whose end, 
both at the fir.st and now, was and is, to hold, 
as 'twere, the minor up to nature ; to show 
virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, 
and tlie very age and body of the time his form 
and pressure. Now this overdone, or come 
tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, 
cannot but make the judicious grieve ; the 
censure of tlie which one must in your allow- 
ance o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. O, 
there be players that I have seen play, ^n^ 



heard others praise, and that highly, not to 
speak it profanely, that, neither having the 
accent of Christians nor the gait of Christian, 
pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed 
that 1 luive thought some of nature's journey- 
jnen had made men and not made them well, 
they imitated humanity so abominably. 

First Play. I hope we have reformed that 
indifferently with us, sir. 41 

Ham. 0, reform it altogether. And let 
those that play your clowns speak no more 
than is set down for them ; for there be of 
them that will themselves laugh, to set on 
some quantity of barren spectators to laugh 
too ; though, in the mean time, some neces.sary 
question of the play be then to be considered : 
that's villanous, and shows a most pitiful 
ambition in the fool that uses it. Go, make 
you ready. [^Exeunt Players. 

Enter Polonius, Rosencrantz, and Guild- 

ENSTERN. 

How now, my lord ! will the king hear this 
piece of work ? 

Pol. And the queen too, and that presently. 

Ham. Bid the players jnake haste. [Exit 
'Polonius.] Will you two help to hasten them ? 

'fe.i ^>^^^-"i.'".yi«rd. 

lExennt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 
Ham. What ho ! Horatio ! 

Enter Horatio 

Hor. Here, sweet lord, at your service. 

Ham. Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man 
As e'er my conversation coped withal. 60 

Hor. O, my dear lord, — 

Ham. Nay, do not think I flatter ; 

For what advancement may I hope from thee 
That no revenue hast but thy good spirits. 
To feed and clothe thee ? Why should the 

poor be flatter'd ? 
No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, 
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee 
Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou 

hear ? 
Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice 
And could of men distinguish, her election 69 
Hath seal'd thee for herself; for thou hast been 
As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing, 
A man that fortune's buffets and rewards 
Hast ta'en with equal thanks : and blest are 

those 
Whose blood and judgment are so well com- 
mingled. 
That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger 
To sound what stop she please. Give me that 

man 
That is notj^assion's slave, and I will wear liira 
In mj' heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart. 
As I do thee. — Something too much of this. — 
There is a play to-night before the king ; 80 
One scene of it comes near the circumstance 
Which I have told thee of my father's death : 
1 prithee, when thou seest that act afoot, 

Evea wjth tb§ Y^ry <K'BJJneeti 9l tby soul 



Scene ii.] 



HAMLET. 



665 



Observe mine uncle : if his occulted guilt 
Do not itself unkennel in one speech, 
It is a damned ghost that we have seen, 
And ray imaginations are as foul 
As Vulcan's stithy. Give l)im heedful note ; 
For I mine eyes will rivet to his face, IK) 

And after we will both our judgments join 
In censure of his seeming. 

Hor. Well, my lord : 

If he steal aught the whilst this play is jjlaying, 
And 'scape detecting, I will i)ay the theft. 

Ilain. They are coming to the play ; I must 
be idle : 
Get you a i)lace. 

Danish march. A flotirish. Enter Kinc, 
Queen, Polonius, (Jphklia, Rosenckantz, 

GUILDENSTEKN, UlUl Othcm. 

Kimj. How fares our cousin Hamlet ? 

Ham. Excellent, i' faith ; of the cliameleon's 
dish : I eat the air, promise-crammed : you 
cannot feed capons so. 100 

Kinfi. I have nothing with this answer, 
Hamlet ; these words are not mine. 

Ham. No, nor mine now. [To Polonius] 
My lord, you played once i' the university, 
you say ? 

Pol. That did I, my lord ; and was ac- 
counted a good actor. 

Ham. What did you enact ? 

Pol. I did enact Julius Cicsar : I was killed 
i' the Capitol ; Brutus killed me. 110 

Ham. It was a brute part of liim to kill so 
capital a'calf there. Be the players ready ? 

Bos. Ay, my lord ; they stay uix>n your 
patience. 

Qiteen. Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit 
by me. 

Ham. No, good mother, here's metal more 
attractive. 

Pol. [To the Kin <i] O, ho! do you mark 
that ? 

Ham. Lady, shall I lie in your lap ? 

[Lying down at Ophelia s feet. 

Oph. No, my lord. . * 120 

Ham. I mean, my head upon your lap ? 

Oph. Ay, my lord. 

Ham. Do you think I meant country mat- 
ters? 

Oph. I think nothing, my lord. 

Ham. That's a fair thought to lie between 
laaids' legs. 

Oph. What is, my lord ? 

Ham. Notliiug. 

Oph. You are merry, my lord. 

Ham. Who, I ? 

Oph. Ay, my lord. 130 

Ham. O God, your only jig-maker. What 
should a man do but be merry ? for, look you, 
how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father 
died witliin these two hours. 

Oph. Nay, 'tis twice two months, my lord. 

Ham. So long ? Nav then, let the devil 
wear black, for I'll have a suit of sables. O 
heavens ! die two months ago, and not forgot- 
ten yet ? Theu there's hope a great man's 



memory may outlive his life half a year : but, 
by'r laciy, he must build churches, then ; or 
else shall he sulfer not thinking on, with the 
hobby-horse, wiiose epitaph is ' For, O, for, O, 
the hobby-horse is forgot.' 

Hautboys play. The dumb-show enters. 

Enter a King and a Queen very lovinf/ly ; the 
Queen embracing him, and he her. JShe 
kneels, (md makes shoiv of jirotestation unto 
him. He takes her up, and declines hi,-< hi ad 
iipon her neck : lays him down vpon a bank 
of Jioivers : she, seeing him a.sleep, learcs 
him. Anon comes in a fellow, takes off' his 
crown, kis.ses it, and poxrs poison in the 
King's ears, and e3-it. The Queen returns ; 
^linxls the King dead, and makes passionette 
action. Tlic Poisoner, leith some tivo or three 
Mutes, comes in again, seeming to lament 
with her. The dead body is carried away. 
The Poisoner loooes the Queen irith gifts : 
she seems loath and unwilling aichile, but in 
the end accepts his love. [Exeunt. 

Oph. What means this, my lord ? 
Ham. Marry, this is miching mallecho ; it 
means mischief. 

Oph. Belike this show imports the argu- 
ment of the play. l50 

Enter Prologue. 

Hatn. We shall know by this fellow : the 
players cannot keep counsel ; they'll tell all. 

Oph. Will he tell us what this show meant? 

Ham. Ay, or any show that you'll show 
him : be not you ashamed to show, he'll not 
shame to tell you what it means. 

Oph. You are naught, you are naught : Pll 
mark the play. 

Pro. For us, and for our tragedy, 

Here stooping to your clemency, 160 
We beg your hearing patiently. [Et'H. 

Ham. Is this a prologue, or the posy of a 
ring? 

Oph. 'Tis brief, my lord. 

Ham. As woman's love. 

Enter tvjo Players, King and Queen. 

P. King. Full tliiity times hath Phoebus* 

cart gone round 
Neptune's salt wash and Tellus' orbed ground, 
And thirty dozen moons with borrow'd sheen 
About the world have times twelve thirties 

been, 
Since love our hearts and Hymen did our 

hands 
Unite commr.tual in most sacred bands. 170 
P. Queen. So manj' journeys maj' the 

sun and moon 
Make us again count o'er ere love be done ! 
But, woe is me, you are .so sick of late. 
So far from cheer and from your former 

state. 
That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust, 
Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing niu.st : 
For women's fear and love holds quantity ; 
In neither aught, or in extreraivy 



666 



HAMLET. 



[Act III. 



Now, what ray love is, proof hath made you 

know ; 
And as my love is sized, luv fear is so : 180 
Where love is great, the littlest doubts are 

fear ; 
Where little fears grow great, great love 
..^-■'^grows there. 
-' P. King.. 'Faith, I must leave thee, love, 
and sliortly too ; 
My operant powers their functions leave to 

do: 
And thou shalt live in this fair world be- 

liiud, 
Houor'd, beloved ; and haplj"^ one as kind 
For husband shalt thou — 

P. Queen. 0, confound the rest ! 

Such love must needs be treason in :ny 

breast : 
In second husband let me be accurst ! 189 
None wed the second but who kill'd the first., 
Hmn. [Aside^ Wormwood, wormwood. 
P. Queen. The instances that second mar- 
riage move 
Are base respects of thrift, but none of love: 
A second time I kill my husband dead. 
When second husband kisses me in bed. 
P. Kiuf/. I do believe you think what 
now you speak ; 
But what Nve do determine oft we break. 
Purpose is but the slave to memory. 
Of violent birth, but poor validity ; 
Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the 
tree ; 200 

But fall, unshaken, when they mellow be. 
Most necessary 'tis that we forget 
To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt : 
What to ourselves in passion we propose, 
The passion ending, dotli the purpose lose. 
The violence of either grief or joy 
Their own enactures with themselves de- 
stroy : 
Where joy most revels, grief doth most la- 
ment ; 
Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident. 
This world is not for aye, ]ior 'tis not strange 
That even our loves should with our for- 
tunes change ; 
For 'tis a question left us yet to prove, 
Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune 

love. 
The great man do.wn, you mark his favorite 

flies ; 
The poor advanced makes friends of ene- 
mies. 
And hitherto doth love on fortune tend ; 
For who not needs shall never lack a friend. 
And who in want a hollow friend doth try. 
Directly seasons him his enemy. 
But, orderly to end where I begun, 220 

Our wills and fates do so contrary run 
That our devices .still are overthrown ; 
Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of 

our own : 
So tjiink thou wilt no second husband wed ; 
Pwt die thy thoughts wU^.n phy first loi'd is 



P. Queen. Nor earth to me give food, nor 
heaven light ! 
Sport and repose lock from me day and 

niglit ! 
To desperation turn my trust and hope ! 
An anchor's cheer in prison be my scope ! 
Each opposit,e that blanks tlie face of joy 230 
Meet what I would have well and it destroy! 
Both here and hence pursue me lasting 

strife, 
If, once a widow, ever I be wife ! 
Ham. If she should break it now ! 
P. Kiiui. 'Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave 
me here awhile ; 
My spirits grow dull, and fain I would be- 
guile 
Tlie tedious day with sleep. [Sleeps. 

P. Queen. Sleep rock thy brain ; 

And never come mischance between us 
twain ! [Exit. 

Ham. Madam, how like you this play ? 239 
Queen. The lady protests too much, me- 

tliinks. 
Ham. O, but she'll keep her word. 
King. Have you heard the argument ? Is 
there no offence in 't ? 
Ham. No, no, they do but jest, poison in 

jest ; no offence i' the world. 
King. What do you call the play ? 
Ham. The Mouse'-trap. Marry, bow ? Tro- 
pically. Tills play is the image of a murder 
done in Vienna : Gonzago is the duke's name ; 
his wife, Baptista : you shall see anon ; 'tis a 
knavish piece of work : but what o' tliat ? 
your majesty and we that have free souls, it 
touches us not i^et the galled jade wince, our 
withers are uuwrung. ) 

Enter tuciANUS. 

This is one Lucianus, nephew to the king. 

Oph. You are as good as a chorus, my lord. 

Ham. I could mterpret between you and 
your love, if I could see the puppets dallying. 

Oph. You are keen, my lord, you are keen. 

Ham. It would cost you a groaning to take 
off my edge. 260 

Oph. Still better, and worse. 

Ham. So you must take your husbands. Be- 
gin, murderer; pox, leave thy damnable faces, 
and begin. Come : ' the croaking raven doth 
bellow for revenge.' 

Luc. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs 
fit, and time agreeing ; 

Confederate season, else no creature seeing ; 

Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds col- 
lected. 

With Hecate's ban thrice blasted, thrice in- 
fected. 

Thy natural magic and dire ])roperty, 270 

On wholesome life usurp immediately. 
[Pours the poison into the sleeper's ears. 

Ham,. He poisons him i' the garden for's 
estate. His name's Gonzago : the story is ex- 
tant, and writ in choice Italian : you shall see 
anon how the murderer ^ets tlie tove of Goo* 
giigo's wife, ■ ■ 



Scene ii.] 



HAMLET. 



66: 



Oph. The king rises. 

Ham. What, frighted with false fire ! 

Qjiecn. How fares my lord ? 

Pol. Give o'er the play. 

Kim/. Give me some light : away ! 280 

All.' Lights, liglits, liiihts ! 

iExeunt all but Hamlet and Horatio. 
Ham. t Why, let the stricken deer go weep, 
\. The hart ungalled jilay ; 
For some must watch, while some 
must sleej) : 
So runs the world away. ' 
Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers — 
if the rest of my fortunes tarn Turk with me — 
with two Provincial roses on m.v razed shoes, 
get me a fellowship iu a cry of players, sir? 
Jlor. Half a share. 2110 

Ham. A whole one, I. 

For thou dost know, Damon dear. 

This realm dismantled was 
Of Jove liimself ; and now reigns here 
A very, very — pajock. 
Hor. You might have rhymed. 
Ha77i. O good Horatio, I'll take the ghost's 
word for a thousand pound. Didst perceive ? 
Hor. Very well, my lord. 
Hum. U])on the talk of the poisoning ? 300 
Hor. I did very well note him. 
Ham. Ah, ha ! Come, some music ! come, 
the recorders ! 

For if the king like not the comedy. 
Why then, belike, he likes it not, perdy. 
Come, some music ! 

Ee-enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 

Gidl. Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word 
with you. 

Ham . Sir, a whole history. 

Gxiil. Tlie king, sir,— ■ 310 

Ham. Ay, sir, what of him ? 

Guil. Is in his retirement marvellous dis- 
tempered. 

Ham. With drink, sir ? 

Guil. No, my lord, rather with clK)ler. 

Ham. Your wisdom should sliow itself more 
richer to signify this to his doctor ; for, for 
me to put him to his purgation would perhajjs 
plunge him into far more choler. 319 

Guil. Good my lord, put your discourse 
into some frame and start not so wildly from 
my affair. 

Ham. I am tame, sir : pronounce. 

Guil. The queen, your mother, in most great 
affliction of spirit, hath sent me to you. 

Ham. You are welcome. 

Guil. Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is 
not of the right l)reed. If it shall please you 
to make me a wholesome answer, I will do 
your mother's commandment : if not, your 
pardon and my return shall be the end of my 
business. 330 

Ham. Sir, I cannot. 

Guil. What, my lord ? 

Ham,. Make you a wholesome answer ; my 
wit's diseased : but, sir, such answer as I can 
B»ftk9, yoij 8tjfl.}lco|DmaD4 i or, ratber, as you 



say, my mother : therefore no more, but to 
the matter : my mothei:, you say, — 

lios. Then thus she says ; your behavior 
hath struck her into amazement and admira- 
tion. 339 

Hain. O wonderful son, that can so aston- 
ish a motlier ! But is tliere jio sequel at tlie 
heels of this motlier's admiration ? Impart. 

Eos. She desires to speak with you in her 
closet, ere you go to bed. 

Ham. We shall obey, were she ten time.« 
our mother. Have you any further trade with 
us ? 

Eos. My lord, you once did love me. 

Ha7n. So I do still, by these pickers and 
stealers. 349 

Eos. Good my lord, what is your cause of 
distemper ? you do, surely, bar the door upon 
your own liberty, if you deny your griefs to 
your friend. 

Hain. Sir, I lack advancement. 

Eos. How can that be, when you have the 
voice of the king himself for your succession 
in Denmark ? 

Ham. Ay, but sir, ' Wliile the grass grows,' — 
the proverb is sometliiug musty. 359 

Ee-enter Players with recorders. 
0, the recorders ! let me see one. To with- 
draw with you : — why do you go about to re- 
cover tlie wind of me, as if you would drive 
me into a toil ? 

Guil. O, my lord, if my duty be too bold, 
my love is too unmannerly. 

Ham. I do not well understand that. Will 
you play upon this pipe? 

Guil. My lord, I cannot. 

Ham,. I pray you. 

Gidl. Believe me, I cannot. 

Ham,. I do beseech you. 370 

Guil. I know no touch of it, my lord. 

Ham. 'Tis as easy as lying: govern these 
ventages with your lingers and thumb, give it 
breath with your mouth, and it will discourse 
most eloquent music. Look you, these are the 
stops. 

Guil. But tliese cannot I command to any 
utterance of liarmony ; I have not the skill. 

Ha7n. Wliy, look you now. how unworthy 
a thing you make of me ! You would pla^ 
upon me ; you would seem to know my stops ; 
you would [iluck out the heart of my mystery; 
you would sound me from my lowest note to 
the top of my compass : and there is much 
nuisic, excellent voice, in this little organ; yet 
cannot you makeii speak. 'Sblood, do you 
think I am easier to oe played on than a i)ipe? 
Call me what instrument you will, though 
you can fret me, yet you cannot play upon 
me. 

Enter Polonius. 
God bless you, sir I 390 

Pol. My lord, the queen would speak with 
you, and i)resently. 

Ham. Do you see yonder cloiid that's al» 

most iu shape Qt a camel ? 



668 



HAMLET. 



[Act III. 



Pol. By the mass, aud 'tis like a camel, in- 
deed. 

Hain. Methinks it is like a weasel. 

Pol. It is backed like a weasel. 

Ham. Or like a whale ? 

Pol. Very lik-e a wliale. 399 

Ham. Tlien I will come to my mother by 
aud by. Tliey fool me to the top of my beut. 
I will come by and by. 

Pol. I will say so. 

Ham. By and by is easily said. [Exit Polo- 
nius.] Leave me, friends. 

[Exeunt all but Hamlet. 
'Tis now the very witching time of night. 
When churchyards yawn aud hell itself 

breatlies out 
Contagion to this world : now could I drink 

hot blood, 
And do such bitter business as the daj"- 
Would quake to look on. Soft ! now to ray 
mother. 410 

heart, lose not thy nature ; let not ever 
The soul of Nero enter tliis firm bosom : 
Let me be cruel, not unnatural : 

1 will speak daggers to her, but use none ; 
My tongue aud soul in this be hypocrites ; 
How in my words soever she be sheut, 

To give them seals never, my soul, consent ! 

[Exit. 

Scene IIL A room in the castle. 
Enter King, Rosencrantz, and 

GUILDENSTEKN. 

Kinfj. I like him not, nor stands it safe with 
us 
To let his madness range. Therefore prepare 

you ; 
I your commission will forthwith dispatch. 
And he to England shall along with yon : 
The terms of our estate may not endure 
Hazard so dangerous as doth hourly grow 
Out of his lunacies. 

Guil. We will ourselves provide : 

Most holy and religious fear it is 
To keep those many manj^ bodies safe 
That live and feed upon your majesty. 10 

ijy.s. Tlie single aud peculiar life is' bound, 
With all the strength and armor of the mind. 
To keep itself from noyance ; but much more 
That spirit upon whose weal depend and rest 
The lives of many. The cease of majesty 
Dies not alone ; but, like a gulf, doth draw 
What's near it with it: it is a massy wheel, 
Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount, 
To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser 

things 
Are mortised and adjoin'd ; which, when it 
falls, 20 

Each small annexmeut, petty consequence, 
Attends the boisterous ruin. Never alone 
Did the king sigh, but with a general groan. 

Kiny. Arm you, 1 pray you, to this speedy 
voyage ; 
For we will fetters put upon this fear, 

Which «ow go?8 too free-footed. 



gjjj^ j We will haste us. 

[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstcrn. 
Enter Polonius. 

Pol. My lord, he's going to his mother'a 

closet : 
Behind the arras I'll convey myself. 
To hear the process ; I'll warrant she'll ta-t 

him home : 
And, as you said, and wisely was it said, 30 
'Tis meet that some more audience tlian a 

mother, [hear 

Since nature makes them partial, should o'er- 
The speech, of vantage. Fare you well, my 

liege : 
I'll call upon you ere you go to bed. 
And tell you what I know. 
King. Tlianks, dear juy kiid 

[Exit PoloniKR. 
\0, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven ; \ 
Tt hath the primal eldest curse upon't, _) 
A brother's nnirder. Pray can 1 not, 
Tliough inclination be as sharp as will : 39 
]\Iy stronger guilt defeats my strong intent ; 
Aud, like a man to double business bound, 
I stand in p.ause where I shall first begin. 
And both neglect. Wliat if this cursed hand 
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood. 
Is there not rain enougli in the sweet heavens 
To wash it white as snow ? Whereto serves 

mercy 
But to confront the visage of offence ? 
Aud what's in prayer but this two-fold force, 
To be forestalled ere we come to fall, 49 

Or pardon'd being down ? Then I'll look up ; 
My fault is past. But, 0, what form of prayer 
Can serve my turn ? ' Forgive me my foul 

murder ' ? 
Tliat cannot be ; since I am still possess'd 
Of those effects for which I did the murder. 
My crown, mine own ambition and my queen. 
May one be pardon'd and retain the offence ? 
In the corrupted currents of this world 
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice, 
Aud oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself 
Buys out the law : but 'tis not so above ; 60 
There is no shuffling, there the action lies 
In his true nature ; and we ourselves com- 

pell'd, 
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults. 
To give in evidence. What then ? what 

rests ? 
Try what repentance can : what can it not ? 
Yet what can it when one can not repent ? 
O wretched state ! bosom black as death ! 
O limed soul, that, struggling to be free, 
Art more engaged ! Help, angels ! Make 

assay ! 
Bow, stubborn knees ; aud, heart with strings 

of steel, 70 

Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe ! 
All may be well. [Retires and kneels. 

Enter Hamlet. 
Ham. Now might I do }t pat, Ro^ be is 

prayiBgi ' 



Scene iv.] 



HAMLET. 



669 



And now I'll do't. And so he goes to heaven ; 
And so am I revenged. That would be 

scann'd : 
A villain kills my father ; and for that, 
I, his sole son, do this same villain send 
To heaven. 

O, this is hire and salary, not revenge. 
He took my fatlier grossly, full of bread ; 80 
With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as 

Mny ; 
And how his audit stands who knows save 

heaven ? 
But in our circumstance and course of 

thought, 
'Tis heavy with him : and ami then revenged. 
To tiike him in the i)urging of liis soul. 
When he is lit and season'd tor his passage ? 
J^o! 
Up, sword ; and know thou a more horrid 

hent : 
When he is drunk asleep, or in his rage, 
Or in tlie incestuous pleasure of his bed ; 90 
At gaming, swearing, or about some act 
That has no relish of salvation in't ; 
Then trip him, that his heels may kick at 

heaven. 
And that his soul may be as damn'd and 

black 
As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays : 
This physic but prolongs thy sickly days. 

\_Ejrit. 
King. [TJ/sinf/] My words fly up, my 
thoughts remain below : 
Words without thoughts never to heaven gOt 

\_EjcU. 

ScEarE IV. The Queen's closet. 

Enter Queen and Polonius. 

Pol. He will come straight. Look you lay 
home to him : 
Tell him his pranks have been too broad to 

bear with. 
And that your grace hath screen' d and stood 

between 
Much heat and him. I'll sconce me even here. 
Pray you, be round with him. 
Jlam. [ Within] Mother, mother, mother ! 
Queen. I'll warrant you, 

Fear me not : withdraw, I hear him comiiig. 
[Polotiius hides behind the arras. 

Enter Hajilet. 
Ham. Now, mother, what's the matter ? 
Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much 

offended. 
Ham. Mother, you have my father much 

offended. 10 

Q;ueen. Come, come, you answer with an 

idle tongue. 
Ham. Go, go, you question with a wicked 

tongue. 
Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet ! 
flam. What's the matter now ? 

Queen. Have you forgot me ? 
Bam. No, by the rood, not so : 



You are the queen, your husband's brother's 

wife ; 
And — would it were not so ! — you are my 
mother. 
Queen. Nay, then, I'll set those to you 

that can speak. 
Hum. Come, come, and sit you down ; you 
shall not budge ; 
You go not till I set you up a glass 
Where you may see the inmost part of you. 20 
Queen. What wilt thou do ? thou wilt not 
murder me ? 
Help, help, ho ! 

Pol. [Behind] What, ho ! help, help, help ! 
Ham. [Draiving] How now ! a rat ? Dead, 
for a ducat, dead ! 

[Makes a pass through the airas. 
Pol. [Behind] O, I am slain ! 

[falls and dies. 
Queen. O me, what hast thou done ? 
Ham. Nay, I know not ; 

Is it the king ? 

Queen. O, what a rash and bloody deed is 

this ! 
Ham. A bloody deed ! almost as bad, good 
mother. 
As kill a king, and marry with his brother. 
Queen. As kill a king I 
Ham. Ay, lady, 'twas my word. 30 

[Lifts vp the ai-ras aiid discovers Polonius. 
Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, fare- 
well ! 
I took thee for thy better : take thy fortune ; 
Thou find'st to be too busy is some danger. 
Leave wringing of your hands : peace ! sit 

you down, 
And let me wring your heart ; for so I shall, 
If it be made of penetrable stuff. 
If damned cu.stom have not brass'd it so 
That it is proof and bulwark against sense. 
Queen. What have I done, that thou darest 
wag thy tongue 
In noise so rude against me ? 

Ham. Such an act 40 

That blurs the grace and blush of modesty. 
Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose 
From the fair forehead of an innocent love 
And sets a blister there, makes marriage- 
vows 
As false as dicers' oaths : 0, such a deed 
As from the body of contraction plucks 
The very soul, and sweet religion makes 
A rhapsody of words : heaven's face doth 

glow ; 
Yea, this solidity and compound mass. 
With tristful visage, as against the doom, 50 
Is thought-sick at the act. 

Queen. Ay me, what act, 

That roars so loud, and thunders in the in- 
dex? 
Ham. Look here, upon this picture, and on 
this. 
The counterfeit presentment of two brotlisrs. 
See, what a grace was seated on this bro'.v ; 
Hyperion's curls ; the front of .love liimself ; 
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command j 



670 



HAMLET. 



[Act lit. 



A station like the herald Mercury 

Ne\v-li!;lite(l on a heaven-kissing hill ; 

A combination and a form indeed, 60 

Where every god did seem to set his seal, 

To give the \vorld assurance of a man : 

Til is was your husband. Look you now, what 

follows : 
Here is your husband ; like a mildew'd ear. 
Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you 

eyes ? 
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, 
And batten on this moor ? Ha ! have you 

eyes ? 
You cannot call it love ; for at your age 
The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble, 
And waits u])on the judgment : and what 

judgment 70 

Would" step from this to this ? Sense, sure, 

you have. 
Else could you not have motion ; but sure, 

that sense 
Is apoplex'd ; for madness would not err, 
Nor sense to ecstasy was ne'er so thrall'd 
But it reserved some quantity of choice, 
To serve in such a difference. What devil 

was't 
That tlins hath cozen'd you at hoodman- 

blind ? 
Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight. 
Ears without liands or eyes, smelling sans all, 
Or but a sickly part of one ttue sense 80 

Could not so mo[ie. 
O shame ! where is thy blush ? Rebellious 

hell. 
If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones, 
To thiming youtli lot \irtue be as wax, 
And melt in her own fire : proclaim no shame 
When the compulsive ardor gives the charge, 
Since frost itself as actively doth burn 
And reason panders will. 

Queen. O Hamlet, speak uo more : 

Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul ; 
And there I see such black and grained spots 
As will not leave their tiuct. 91 

Ham. Nay, but to live 

In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed, 
Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making 

love 
0\cr the nasty sty, — 

Queen. O, speak to me no more ; 

These words, like daggers, enter in mine 

ears ; 
No more, sweet Hamlet ! 

Hani. A nuirderer and a villain ; 

A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe 
Of your precedent lord ; a vice of kings ; 
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule. 
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole, 
And put it in his pocket ! 101 

Queen. No more ! 

Ha7n. A king of shreds and patches, — 

Enter Ghost. 

Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings. 
You heavenly guards ! What would your 
gracious figure ? 



Queen. Alas, he's mad ! 
Ham. Do you not come your tardy son to 
chide. 
That, lapsed in time and passion, lets go by 
The important acting of your dread com- 

iiiand ? 
0, say ! 

Gho.st. Do not forget : this visitation 110 
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose 
But, look, amazement on thy mother sits : 
O, step between her and her fighting soul : 
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works : 
Speak to her, Hamlet. 
Ham. How is it with you, lady ? 

Queen. Alas, how is't with you. 
That you do bend your eye on vacancy 
And with the incorporal air do hold dis- 
course ? 
Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep ; 
And, as tlie sleeping soldiers in the alarm, 120 
Your bedded hair, like life in excrements. 
Starts up, and stands on end. gentle son. 
Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper 
Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you 
look ? 
Ham. On him, on him ! Look you, how 
pale he glares ! 
His form and cause conjoin' d, preaching to 

stones. 
Would make them capable. Do not look upon 

me ; 
Lest with this piteous action you convert 
^ly stern effects : then what 1 have to do 
Will want true color ; tears perchance for 
blood. 130 

Queen. To whom do you speak this ? 
Hcan. Do you see nothing there ? 

Queen. Nothing at all ; yet all that is I see. 
Ham. Nor did you nothing hear ? 
Queen. No, nothing but ourselves. 

Hain. Why, look you there ! look, how it 
steals away ! 
My father, in his habit as he lived ! 
Look, where he goes, even now, out at the 
portal ! [Exit Ghost. 

Queen. This is the very coinage of your 
brain : 
This bodiless creation ecstasy 
Is very cunning in. 

Ham. Ecstasy ! 

My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep 
time, 140 

And makes as healthful music : it is not mad- 
ness 
That I have utter'd : bring me to the test. 
And I the matter will re-word ; which mad- 
ness 
Would gambol from. Mother, for love of 

grace, 
Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, 
That not your trespass, but my madness 

speaks : 
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place, 
Whilst rank corruption, mining all within. 
Infects unseen. Confess youself to heaven ; 
Bepent what's past j avoid what is to coiue ; 



Scene i.] 



HAMLET. 



6?1 



Aud do not spread the compost on the weeds, 
To uialce tlicm ranker. Forgive me this my 

virtue ; 
For in tlie fatness of these pursy times 
Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg, 
Yea, curb and woo for leave to do him good. 
Qitcen. O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart 

in twain. 
Ham. (), Uirow away the worser part of it. 
And live the purer with tlie other half. 
(iood night : but go not to mine uncle's bed ; 
Assume a virtue, if you have it not. 1(J0 

That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat, 
tOf habits devil, is angel yet in tliis. 
That to the use of actions'fair and good 
He likewise gives a frock or livery. 
That aptly is ]uit on. Refrain to-night, 
And tliat shall lend a kind of easiness 
To the next abstinence : the next more easy ; 
For use almost can change the stamp of nature, 

tAnd either tlie devil, or throw him out 

With "wondrous potency. Once more, good 
night : 170 

And when you are desirous to be bless'd, 
I'll blessing beg of you. For this same lord, 

[Pointing to Polonius. 
I do repent : but heaven hath pleased it so, 
To punish me with this and this with me. 
That I must be their scourge and ministei-. 
1 will bestow him, and will answer well 
The death I gave him. 80, again, good night. 
I must 1)0 cruel, only to be kind : 
Thus bad begins and worse remains behind. 
One word more, good ladv. 
Qjireri. What shall I do ? ISO 

Ilam. Not this, by no means, that I bid 
you do : 
Let the bloat king tempt you again to bed ; 
Pinch wanton on your cheek ; call you his 

mouse ; 
And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses, 
Or paddling in your neck with his damn'd 

fingers, 
Ma'KC you to ravel all this matter out. 
That I essentially am not in madness. 
But mad in craft. 'Twere good you let him 

know ; 
For who, that's but a queen, fair, sober, wise. 
Would fi'om a paddock, from a bat, a gib, 100 
Such dear concernings liide ? who would do 

so? 
No, in despite of sense and secrecy, 
Unpeg the basket on the house's top. 
Let the birds fly, and, like the famous ape, 
To try conclusions, in the basket creep, 
And break your own neck down. 
Qnccn. Be thou assured, if words be made 
of breath, 
And breath of life, I have no life to breathe 
What thou hast said to me. 
Hum. I must to England ; j'ou know that ? 
Queen. Alack, 200 

I had forgot : 'tis so concluded on. 
Ham. There's letters seal'd : and mj* two 
schoolfellows, 
W^om I will truatas X wiU adders faug'd. 



They bear the mandate ; they must sweep my 

way, 
And marshal me to knavery. Let it work ; 
For 'tis the sport to have the euginer 
Hoist with his own petar : and 't shall go hard 
But I will delve one yard below their mines. 
And blow them at the moon : 0, 'tis most 

sweet, 
When in one line two crafts directly meet. 210 
This man shall set me packing : 
I'll lug the guts into the neiglibor room. 
Mother, good night. Indeed this counsellor 
Is now most still, most secret and most grave, 
Who was in life a foolish prating knave. 
Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you. 
Good night, mother. 

\_Exeunt severally ; Hamlet dragging 
in Folonius. 



ACT lY. 



ScEXE I. A room in the castle. 
Enter King, Queen, Rosencrantz, and 

GUILDENSTEKN. 

King. There's matter in these sighs, these 

profound heaves : 
You must translate : 'tis fit we understand 

them. 
Where is your son ? 

Queen. ' Bestow this place on us a little 

while. 

[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Gvildenstcrn. 
Ah, my good lord, what have I seen to-night ! 
King. Wh;it, Gertrude ? How does Ham- 
let? 
Queen. ^I;id as the sea and wind, when 

both contend 
Which is the mightier : in his lawless fit, 
Bcliind the arras hearing something stir, 
Whips out his rapier, cries, ' A rat, a rat ! ' 
And, in this brainish apprehension, kills 11 
Tlie unseen good oid man. 

King. heavy deed ! 

It had been so with us, had we been there : 
His liberty is full of threats to all ; 
To you yourself, to us, to every one. 
Alas, how shall this bloody deed be answer'i'.? 
It will be laid to us, whose i)rovidence 
Should have kept short, restrain'd and out of 

haunt. 
This mad young man : but so much was our 

love. 
We would not understand what was most fit ; 
But, like the owner of a foul disease, 21 

To keep it from divulging, let it feed 
Even on the jnth of life. Wliere is he gone ? 
Queen. To draw apart the body he hath 

kill'd : 
O'er whom his very madness, like some ore 
Among .n mineral of metals base. 
Shows itself pure ; he weeps for what is done. 

Klnq. O Gertrude, come away ! 
The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch, 
But we will shixj him hence : aud this vile 

deed 30 



672 



SAMLET. 



[Act IV, 



We must, with all our majesty and skill, 
Both countenance and excuse. Ho, Guilden- 
stern ! 

Re-enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 

Friends both, go join you with some further 

aid : 
Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain. 
And from his mother's closet hath he dragg'd 

him : 
Go seek him out ; speak fair, and bring the 

body 
Into the chapel. I pray you, haste in this. 

[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guddenstern. 
Come, Gertrude, we'll call up our wisest 

friends ; 
And let them know, both what we mean to do, 

t And what's untimely done 40 

Whose whisper o'er the world's diameter, 
As level as the cannon to his blank. 
Transports his poison' d shot, may miss our 

name, 
And hit the woundless air. O, come away I 
My soul is full of discord and dismay. 

lExeiint. 

Scene II. Another room in the castle. 
Enter Hamlet. 
Ham. Safely stowed. 
Giii'l I [^'<'*"i] Hamlet! Lord Hamlet! 
Ham. What noise ? who calls on Hamlet ? 
O, here they come. 

Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 

Ros. What have you done, my lord, with 
the dead body ? 

Ham. Compounded it with dust, whereto 
'tis kin. 

Ros. Tell us Avhere 'tis, that we may take 
it thence 
And bear it to the chapel. 

Ham. Da not believe it. 

Ros. Believe what? 10 

Ham. Tiiat I can keep your counsel and 
not mine own. Besides, to be demanded of a 
sponge ! what reiilication should be made by 
tlie son of a king ? 

Ros. Take you me for a sponge, my lord ? 

Ham. Ay, sir, that soaks up tlie king's 
countenance, his rewards, his authorities. J3ut 
such offlt'ers do the king best service in the 
end : he keeps tliem, like an ape, in the corner 
of his jaw; first mouthed, to be last swallowed : 
when he needs what you have gleaned, it is 
but squeezing you, and, sponge, you shall be 
dry again. 

Ros. I understand you not, my lord. 

Ham. I am glad of it : a knavish speech 
sleeps in a foolish ear. 

Ros. My lord, you must tell us where the 
body is, and go with us to the king. 

Ham. The body is with the king, but the 
king is not with the body. The king is a 
thing— 30 



Guil. A thing, my lord ! 
Ham. Of nothing : bring me to him. Hide 
fox, and all after. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. Another room in the castle. 

Enter King, attended. 

King. I have sent to seek him, and to find 

the body. 
How dangerous is it that this man goes loose ! 
Yet must not we put the strong law on him : 
He's loved of the distracted multitude, 
Who like not in their judgment, but their 

eyes ; 
And where 'tis so, the offender's scourge is 

weigh'd. 
But never the offence. To bear all smooth 

and even, 
This sudden sending him away must seem 
Deliberate jiause : diseases desperate grown 
By desperate appliance are relieved, 10 

Or not at all. 

Enter Rosencrantz. 
How now ! what hath befall'n ? 
Ros. Where the dead body is bestow'd, my 
lord, 
We cannot get from him. 
Kinr/. But where is he ? 

Ros. Without, my lord ; guarded, to know 

your pleasure. 
King. Bring him before us. 
Ros. Ho, Guildenstern ! bring in my lord. 
Enter Hamlet and Guildenstern. 

King. Now, Hamlet, where' s Polonius ? 

Ham. At sui)per. 

King. 'At supper ! where ? ' 19 

Ham. Not where he eats, but where he is 
eaten : a certain convocation of politic worms 
are e'en at him. Your worm is your only em- 
peror for diet : we fat all creatures else to fat 
us, and we fat ourselves for maggots : your 
fat king and your lean beggar is but variable 
service, two dishes, but to one table: that's the 
end. 

King. Alas, alas \ 

Ham. A man may fish with the worm that 
hath eat of a king, and eat of the fisli that 
hath fed of tliat worm. 30 

King. What dost you mean by this ? 

Ham. Nothing but to show you how a king 
may go a progress through the guts of a 
beggar. 

King. Where is Polonius ? 

Ham. In heaven ; send hither to see : if 
your messenger find him not there, seelc hnn 
i' the otlier place yourself. Butindeed, if you 
find him not within this month, you shall nose 
him as you go no the stairs into the lobby. 

King. Go seek him there. 40 

[To some Attendants. 

Ham. He will stay till ye come. 

[Exeunt Attendants, 

King. Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial 
safety, — 
Which we do tender, as we dearly grieve 



Scene v.] 



HAMLET. 



673 



For that which thou hast done, — must send 

thee heuce 
With fiery quickness : therefore prepare thy- 
self ; 
The bark' is ready, and the wind at help, 
The associates tend, and every thing is bent 
For England. 
Ham. For England ! 
King. Ay, Hamlet. 

llam. Good. 

Kinc). So is it, if thou knew'st our purposes, 
Uam. I see a cherub that sees them. But, 
come ; for Enj;land ! Farewell, dear mother. 
King. Thy loving father, Hamlet. 
Ham. My mother : father and mother is 
man and wife ; man and wife is one Hesli ; 
and so, my mother. Come, for England ! 

[Rrit. 
King. Follow him at foot ; tempt him with 
speed abroad ; 
Delay it not ; I'll have him hence to-night: 
Away ! for every thing is.seal'd and done 
That else leans on the affair : pray you, make 
haste. 

[Exeunt Rosencrantz and Gnildenstcrn. 
And, England, if my love thou hold'st at 

aught^ 
As my great power thereof may give thee 

sense, 
Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red 
After the Danish sword, and thy free awe 
Pays homage to us — thou mayst not coldly set 
Our sovereign process ; which imports at full. 
By letters congruing to that effect. 
The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England; 
For like the hectic in my blood he rages, 
And thou must cure me : till I know 'tis done, 
Howe'er my haps, my joys were ne'er begun. 
; [Ejcit. 70 

y^ Scene IV. A plain in Denmark. 

Enter Fortinbkas, a Captain, and Soldiers, 
marcking. 
For. Go, captain, from me greet the Danisli 
king ; 
Tell him that, by his license, Fortinbras 
Craves the conveyance of a promised march 
Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous. 
If that his majesty would aught with us, 
We shall express our duty in his eye ; 
And let him know so. 

Cap. I wiU do't, my lord. 

For. Go softly on. 

[Exeunt Fortinhras and Soldiers. 
Enter Hamlkt, Rosencrantz, Guilden- 

STEUN, and others. 
Ham, Good sir, whose powers are these ? 
Cap. They are of Norway, sir. 10 

Ham. How purposed, sir, I pray you ? 
Cap. Against some part of Poland. 
Ham. Who commands them, sir ? 
Cap. The nephews to old Norway, Fortin- 
bras. 
Ham. Goes it against the main of Poland, 
sir, 



Or for some frontier? 

Cap. Truly to speak, and with no addition, 
We go to gain a little patch of ground 
That hath in it uo profit but the name. 
To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it ; 
Nor will it yield to Norway or tlie Pole 21 
A ranker late, should it be sold in fee. 

Ham. Why, then the Polack never will 
defend it. 

Cap. Yes, it is already garrison'd. 

Ham. Two thousand souls and twenty thou- 
sand ducats 
Will not debate the question of this straw : 
This is the imposthume of much wealth and 

peace, 
That inward breaks, and shows no cause with- 
out 
Why the man dies. I humbly thank you, sir. 

Cap. God be wi' you, sir. [Exit. 

Bos. Wil't please you go, my lord ? 30 

Ham. I'll be with you straight. Go a little 
before. [Exeunt all except Hamlet. 

How all occasions do inform against me. 
And spur my dull revenge ! Wliat is a man. 
If his chief good and market of his time 
Be but to sleep and feed ? a beast, no more. 
Sure, he that made us with sucli large dis- 
course. 
Looking before and after, gave us not 
Tiiat capability and god-like reason 
To fust in us unused. Now, whether it be 
Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple 40 
Of thinking too precisely on the event, 
A thought which, quarter'd, hath but one part 

wisdom 
And ever three ])arts coward, I do not know 
Wliy yet I live to say ' This thing's to do ; ' 
Sitli I have cause and will and strength and 

means 
To do't. Examples gross as earth exliort me : 
Witness this armj' of such mass and charge 
Led by a delicate and tender prince. 
Whose spirit witli divine ambition puff'd 
Makes mouths at the invisible event, 50 

Exposing what is mortax and unsure 
To all that fortune, deatli and danger dare-. 
Even for an egg-shell. Uightly to be great 
Is not to stir without grciit argument. 
But greatly to fiud quarrel in a straw 
Wlieu honor's at the stal;e. How .'itand I then, 
Tliat luive a father kill'd, a mother stain'd, 
Excitements of my reason and my blood, 
And let all .•^lee]) ? while to my shame, I see 
The innninent death of twenty thousand men, 
That, for a fantasy and trick of fame, 61 

do to their graves like beds, fight for a plot 
Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause, 
Which is not tomb enough and continent 
To liide the slain ? O, from this time forth. 
My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth 1 

[Exit. 

Scene V. Elsinore. A room in the castle. 
Enter Queen, Horatio, and a Gentleman. 
Queen, I will not gpeaJc, with ber. 
43 



m 



SAMLET. 



(Act vr. 



Gent. She is importunate, indeed distract : 
Her mood will needs be i>itied. 

Q^ieen. What would she have ? 

Gent. She speaks much of her father ; says 

she hears 
There's tricks i' the world ; and hems, and 

beats lier heart ; 
Spurns enviously at straws ; speaks things in 

doubt. 
That carry but half sense : her speech is noth- 
ing. 
Yet the unshaped use of it doth move 
The hearers to collection ; they aim at it 
And botch the words up fit to their own 

thoughts ; 10 

Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures 

yield them, 
Indeed would make one think there might be 

thought, 
Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. 
Hor. 'Twere good she were spoken with ; 

for she may strew 
Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds. 
Queen. Let her come in. \^Exit Horatio. 
To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is. 
Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss : 
So full of artless jealousy is guilt. 
It spills itself in fearing to be spilt. 20 

Re-enter Horatio, ivith Ophelia. 

Oph. Where is the beauteous majesty of 

Deumark ? 
Queen. How now, Ophelia ! 
Vji/i. [Sings] How should I your true love 
know 

From another one? 
By his cockle hat and staff, 
And his sandal shoon. 
Queen. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this 

song ? 
Oph. Say you ? nay, pray .you, mark. 
[Sings] He is dead and gone, lady, 

He is dead and gone ; 30 

At his head a grass-green turf, 
At his heels a stone. 
Queen. Nay, but, Ophelia, — 
Oph. Pray you, mark. 
{Sings] Wliite his shroud as the mountain 
snow, — 

Enter King. 
Queen. Alas, look here, my lord. 
Oph. [Sings] Larded with sweet flowers ; 
Which bewept to the grave did go 
With true-love showers. 
King. How do you, pretty lady? 40 

Oph. Well, God 'ild you ! They say the owl 
was a baker's daughter. Lord, we know what 
we are, but i-now not what we may be. God 
be at your table ! 
King. Conceit upon her father. 
Oph. Pray you, let's have no words of this; 
but when they ask you what it means, say you 
this : 

[Sings.] To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day, 
All in the luoiuiug betime, 



And I a maid at your window, BO 

To be your Valentine. 
Then up he rose, and donn'd his clothes, 

And dupp'd tlie chamber-door ; 
Let in the maid, that out a maid 
Never departed more. 
King. Pretty Ophelia ! 
Ojyh. Indeed, la, without an oath, I'll make 
an end on't : 
[Sings] By Gis and by Saint Charity, 
Alack, and fie for shame ! 
Young men will do't, if they come to't ; 
By cock, they are to blanie. 61 . 

Quoth she, before j-ou tumbled me, 

You promised me to wed. 
So would I ha' done, by yonder sun, 
An thou hadst not come to my bed. 
King. How long hatli she been thus ? 
Oph. I hope all will be well. We must be- 
patient: but I cannot choose but weep, to think, 
tliey should lay him i' the cold ground. My 
brother shall know of it : and so I thank you: 
for your good counsel. Come, my coach J' 
Good night, ladies ; good night, sweet ladies ;; 
good night, good night, [Exit, 

King. Follow her close ; give her good 
watch, 
I pray you. [Exit Horatio, 

O, this is the poison of deep grief ; it springs 
All from her father's death. Gertrude, 
Gertrude, [spies, 

^When sorrows come, they come not single 
Itnt in battalions, j First, her father slain : 
Next, your son jone ; and he most violent 
author 80 

Of his own just remove : the people muddied, 
Thick and unwholesome in their thoughts and 

whispers. 
For good Folonius' death ; and we have done 

but greenly. 
In hugger-m ugger to inter him : poor Ophelia. 
Divided from herself and her fair judgment. 
Without the which we are pictures, or mere- 
beasts : 
Last, and as much containing as all these. 
Her brother is in secret come from France ; 
Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds. 
And wants not buzzers to infect his ear 90' 
With pestilent speeches of his father's death 
Wherein necessity, of matter beggar' d. 
Will nothing stick our person to arraign 
In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this, 
Like to a murdering-piece, in many places 
Gives me superfluous death. [A nmse ivithm.. 
Queen. Alack, what noise is tliii?' 

King. Where are my Switzers ? Let them 
guard the door. 

Enter another Gentleman. 

Wliat is the matter ? 

Gent. Save yourself, my lord ; 

The ocean, overpeering of his list. 
Eats not the flats with more impetuous hastf 
Than young Laertes, in a riotous head, IfW 
O'erbears your officers. The rabble call hisw 
lord; 



Scene v.J 



BAMLET, 



676 



And, as the world were now but to begin, 
Ajitiquity forgot, custom not known, 
riie ratitiers and props of every word, 
Tliey cry ' Choose we : Laertes shall be king : ' 
Caps, hands, and tongues, applaud it to the 

clouds : 
* Laertes shall be king, Laertes king 1 ' 
<^ueen. How cheerfully on the false trail 

they cry ! 
0, this is counter, you false Danish dogs ! 110 
Kimj. The doors are broke. \_Xoise within. 

Enter hAiEKV'ES, armed; Y)a,nes following. 

Laer. Where is this king ? Sirs, stand you 
all without. 

Danes. No, let's come in, 

Laer. I pray you, give me leave. 

Danes. We will, we will. 

[They retire loithoiit the door. 

Laer. I thank you : kee^) the door. O thou 
vile king, 
Give me my father ! 

Queen. Calmly, good Laertes. 

Laer. That drop of blood that's calm pro- 
claims me bastard. 
Cries cuckold to my father, brands the harlot 
Even here, between the chaste uusmirched 

brow 
Of my true mother. 

King. What is the cause, Laertes, 120 

That thy rebellion looks so giant-like ? 
Let him go, Gertrude ; do not fear our person : 
There's such divinity doth hedge a king, 
That treason can but peep to what it would, 
Acts little of his will. Tell me, Laertes, 
Why tliou art thus incensed. Let him go, 

Gertrude. 
Speak, man. 

Laer. Where is my father ? 

Kiny. Dead. 

<^ieen. But not by him. 

Kim). Let him demand his fill. 

Laer. How came he dead ? I'll not be jug- 
gled with : i;50 
To hell, allegiance ! vows, to the blackest 

devil ! 
Con-science and grace, to the profoundest pit ! 
I dare damnation. To this i)oint I stand, 
Tiiat both the worlds I give to negligence, 
JyCt come what comes ; only I'll be revenged 
Most thoroughly for my father. 

King. Who shall stay you ? 

Laer. My will, not all the world : 
And for my means, I'll husband th.em so well. 
They shall go far with little. 

King. Good Laertes, 

If you desire to know the certainty 140 

Of your dear father's death, is't writ in your 

revenge, 
That, swoopstake, you will draw both friend 

and foe, 
Winner and loser ? 

Jjaer. None but his enemies. 

King. Will you know them then ? 

Loter. To his good friends thus wide I'll ope 



And like the kind life-rendering pelican, 
Repast them with my blood. 

King. Why, now you speak 

Like a good child and a true gentleman. 
That I am guiltless of your fathers death, 
And am most sensible in grief for it, 150 

It shall as level to your judgment pierce 
As day does to your eye. 

Danes. \_WiULin] Let her come in. 

Laer. How now ! w hat noise is that? 
Ee-enter Ophklia. 

heat, dry up my brains ! tears seven times 

salt, 
Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye ! 
By heaven, thy madness sliall be paid by 

weight. 
Till our scale tarn the beam. O rose of May! 
Dear maid, kind sister, sv\eet Ophelia ! 
O heavens ! is't possible, a young maid's wits 
Should be as moral as an old man's lite ? KK) 
Nature is fine in love, and where 'tis fine, 
It sends some precious instance of itself 
After the tiling it loves. 
Oph. ['S'irt(/.v] 

They bore him barefaced on the bier; 
Hey non nonny, jionnv, hey nonny; 
And in his grave rain'd many a tear: — 
Fare you well, my dove ! 
Laer. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst per- 
suade revenge. 
It could not move thus. 

Opiu [Sings] You miist sing a-doMii a-do'wn. 
An you call him a-down-a. 171 

O, how the wheel becomes it ! It is the false 
steward, that stole his master's daughter. 
Laer. This nothing's more than matter. 
Oph. There's rosemary, that's for remem- 
brance ; pray, love, remember : and there is 
pansies, that's for thoughts. 

Laer, A document in madness, thoughts 
and remembrance fitted. 179 

Oph. There's fennel for you, and colum- 
bines : there's rue for you ; and here's some 
for me : we may call it herb-grace o' Sundays: 
O, you must wear your rue witli a difference. 
There's a daisy: I would give you some violets, 
but they withered all when my father died : 
they say he made a good end, — 

[Sings] For bonny sweet Robin is all my 
joy. [itself, 

Laer. Thought and affliction, passion, hell 
She turns to favor and to prettiness. 
02)h. [Sings] And will he not come again ? 
And will he not come again ? 
No, no, he is dead : 
Go to thy death-bed :_ 
He never will come again. 

His beard was as white as snow, 

All flaxen was his poll : 
He is gone, he is gone 
And we ca.^t away moan : 

God ha' mercy on his soul ! 

And of all Christian souls, I pray God. God 
j^ Wi' ^9. lExU, 200 



6n 



BAMLET. 



[Act If. 



Laer. Do you see this, God ? 

Kin^. Laertes, I must commuue with your 

grief, 
Or yon deny me right. Go but apart, 
Make choice of whom your wisest friends you 

will. [me : 

And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and 
If bv direct or by collateral hand 
They find us touch'd, we will our kingdom 

give, 
Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours, 
To you in satisfaction ; but if no*:, 
Be you content to lend your patience to us, 
And we shall jointly labor with your soul 211 
To give it due content. 

Laer. Let this be so ; 

His means of death, his obscure funeral — 
No trophy, sword, nor hatchment o'er his 

bones. 
No noble rite nor formal ostentation — 
Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to 

earth, 
Tliat I must call't in question. 

Kill!/. So you shall ; 

And where the offence is let the great axe fall. 
I pray you, go with me. [Exeunt. 

Scene VL Another room in the castle. 
Enter Horatio and a Servant. 

Hor. What are they that would speak with 
me ? 

Serv. Sailors, sir : they say they have let- 
ters for you. 

Hor. Let them come in. [Exit Servant. 
I do not know from what part of the world 
I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet. 
Enter Sailors. 

First Sail. God bless you, sir. 

Hor. Let him bless thee too. 

First Sail. He shall, sir, an't please him. 
There's a letter lor you, sir; it comes from the 
ambassador that was bound for England ; if 
your name be Horatio, as I am let to know it 
is. 11 

Hor. [Reads] 'Horatio, when thou shalt 
have overlooked tliis, give these fellows some 
means to the king : they have letters for him. 
Ere we were two days old at sea, a pirate of very 
■warlike appointment gave us chase. Finding 
ourselves too slow of sail, we put on a com- 
pelled valor, and in the grapple I boarded them: 
on the instant they got clear of our ship ; so I 
alone became tlieir prisoner. They have dealt 
■with me like thieves of mercy: but they knew 
what they did ; 1 am to do a good turn for them. 
Let the king have the letters I have sent ; and 
repair thou to me with as much speed as thou 
wouldst fly death. I have words to speak in 
thine ear will make thee dumb ; yet are they 
much too light for the bore of the matter. These 
good fellows will bring thee where I am. Rosen- 
crantz and Guildensteru hold their course for 
England : of them I have much to tell thee. 
Farewell. oO 

' He that thou knowest thine, HAMi.m.' 



Come, I 'Will make you way for these yout 

letters ; 
And do't tiie speedier, that you may direct me 
To liim from whom you brought them. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VH. Another room in t7ie castle. 
Enter King and Laertes. 

King. Now must your conscience my ac- 
quaintiince seal. 
And you must put me in your heart for friend, 
Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear, 
Tliat he which hath your noble father slain 
Pursued my life. 

Lao: It well appears : but tell me 

Why you proceeded not against these feats, 
So crimef ul and so capital in nature. 
As by your safety, wisdom, all things else, 
You mainly were stirr'd up. 

King. O, for two special reasons ^ 

Whicli may to you, perhaps, seem much un- 

sinew'd, 10 

But yet to me they are strong. The queen his 

mother 
Lives almost by his looks ; and for myself— 
My virtue or my plague, be it either which — 
She's so conj unctive to my life and soul, 
That, as the star moves uot but in his sphere, 
I could not but by her. The other motive. 
Why to a public count I might not go. 
Is the great love the general gender bear him; 
Who, dipping all his faults in their affection. 
Would, like the spring that tnrueili wood to 

s1»ne. 
Convert his gyves to graces ; so that my arrow«, 
Too slightly timber'd for so loud a wind, 
Would have reverted to my bow again. 
And not where I had aim'd them. 

Laer. And so have I a noble father lost ; 
A sister driven into desperate terms, 
Whose worth, if praises may go back again, 
Stood challenger on mount of all the age 
For her perfections: but my revenge will come. 

King. Break not your sleeps for that : you 
must not think 30 

That we are made of stuff so flat and dull 
That we can let our beard be shook with 

danger 
And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear 

more : 
I loved your father, and we lovo ourself : 
And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine — 

Enter a Messenger. 

How now ! what news ? 

Mess. Letters, my lord, from Hamlet : 

This to your majesty ; this to the queen. 

King. From Hamlet ! who brought them ? 

Mess. Sailors, my lord, they say; I saw 
them not : 
They were given me by Claudio ; he received 
them 40 

Of him that brought them. 

King. Laertes, you shall hear them. 

Leave us. [Exit, Messenger^ 



SCKNE VII.] 



HAMLET. 



677 



[Ri'ads] ' High and mighty, You shall know 
I am set naked ou your kingdom. To-morrow 
shall I beg leave to see your kingly eyes : when 
I shall, first asking your pardon thereunto, re- 
count tlie occasion of my sudden and more 
strange return. ' Ha:mlet.' 

What should this mean ? Are all the rest 
come back ? 50 

Or is it some abuse, and no such thing ? 
Laer. Know you the hand ? 
Kimj. 'Tis Hamlet's character. 'Naked!' 
And in a postcript here, he says 'alone.' 
Can you advise me ? 
Lcler. I'm lost hi it, my lord. But let him 
come ; 
It warms th sickness in my heart, 

That I .shall live and tell him to his teeth, 
'Thus didest tliou.' 

Kin<i. If it be so, I.aertes — 

As how should it be so ? liow otherwise ? — 
Will you be ruled by me ? 

Laer. Ay, my lord ; 00 

So you will not o'errule me to a peace. 
Kimi. To thine own peace. If he be now 
return'd. 
As checking at his voyage, and that ho means 
No more to undertake it, I will work him 
To an exploit, now ripe in my device, 
Under he whicli he shall not choose but fall : 
And for his death no wind of blame shall 

breathe. 
But even his mother shall uncharge the prac- 
tice 
And call it accident. 

Laer. My lord, I will be ruled ; 

The rather, if you could devise it so 70 

That I might be tlie organ. 

Kinij. It falls right. 

You have been talk'd of since your travel 

much. 
And th;:t in Hamlet's hearing, for a quality 
Wherein, they say, you shine: your sum of 

parts 
Did not together pluck such envy from him 
Az ' id that one, and that, in my regard, 
Of tiie unworthiest siege. 
Laer. ' What part is that, my lord ? 

Kinfj. A very riband in the cap of youtli, 
Yet needful too ; for youth no less becomes 
The light and careless livery that it wears 80 
Than settled age his sables and his weeds. 
Importing health and graveness. Two months 

since. 
Here was a gentleman of Normandy : — 
I've seen myself, and served against, the 

French, 
And they can well on horseback : but this gal- 
lant 
Had witchcraft int ; Ve grew unto his seat ; 
And to such wondrous doing brought his horse. 
As he had been incorpsed and demi-uatured 
With the brave beast : so far he topp'd my 

thought, 
rhat I, in forgery of shapes and tricks, 90 
Come short of wliat he did. 



La^' 



A Nonoan was't 



King. A Norman. 
Laer. Upon my life, Lamond. 
King. The very same. 

Laer. I know him well : he is the brooch 
indeed 
And gem of all the nation. 

King. He made confession of you, 
And gave you such a mnstcrly report 
For art and exercise in your defence 
And for your rapier most especially, 
That he cried out, 'twould be a sight indeed, 
If one could match you : the scrimers of their 
nati(jn, 101 

He swore, had had neither motion, guard, nor 

eye. 
If you opposed them. Sir, this report of his 
Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy 
That he could nothing do but wish and beg 
Your sudden coming o'er, to play with him. 
Now, out of this, — 
Laer. What out of this, my lord ? 

King. Laertes, was vour father dear to 
you ? 
Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, 
A lace without a heart ? 
Laer. Why a.sk you this ? 110 

King. Not that I think you did not love 
your father ; 
But that I know love is begun by time ; 
And that I see, in passages of proof. 
Time qualifies the spark and fire of it. 
There lives within the very flame of love 
A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it ; 
And nothing is at a like goodness still ; 
For goodness, growing to a plurisy. 
Dies in his own too much : that we would do. 
We should do when we would ; for this 'would' 
changes 120 

And hath abatements and delays as many 
As there are tongues, are hands, are acci- 
dents; 
And then this ' sliould ' is like a spendthrift 

sigh, 
That hurts by easing. But, to the quick o' the 

ulcer : — 
Hamlet comes back : what would you under- 
take, 
To show yourself your father's son in deed 
IVLore than in words ? 
Laer. To cut his throat i' the chuKch. 

King. No place, indeed, should murder 
sanctuarize , 
Revenue should have no bounds. But, good 

Laertes, 
Will you do this, keep close within your cham- 
ber. loO 
Hamlet return'd shall know you are come 

home: 
AVe'll put on those shall praise your excellence 
And set a double varnish on the fame 
The Frenchman gave you, bring you in fine to- 
gether 
And wager on your heads : he, being remiss, 
Most generous and free from all contriving. 
Will not i^eruse the foils ; so that, with ease, 
Or with a little shuffling, you may choose 



678 



HAMLET. 



[Act v. 



A sword unbated, and in a pass of practice 
Requite him for your fatlier. 

Lacr. I will do't : 140 

And, for tliat purpose, I'll anoint my sword. 
I bought an unction of a mountebank, 
So mortal that, but dip a knife in it, 
Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare. 
Collected from all simples that have virtue 
Under the moon, can save the thing from death 
That is but scratch' d withal : I'll touch my 

point 
With this contagion, that, if I gall him slightly, 
It may be death. 

Kin;!. Let's further think of this ; 

Weigh what convenience both of time and 
means 150 

May fit us to our shape : if this should fail. 
And that our drift look through our bad per- 
formance, 
'Twere better not assay'd : therefore this pro- 
ject 
Should have a back or second, that might hold, 
If this should blast in proof. Soft ! let me see : 
We'll make a solemil wager on your cunnings: 
I ha't. 

When in your motion you are hot and drj' — 
As malve your bouts more violent to that end — 
And that he calls for drink, I'll have prepared 
him 160 

A chalice for the nonce, whereon but sipping, 
If he by chance escape your venom'd stuck, 
Our purpose may hold tliere. ^ 

Enter Queen. 

How now, sweet queen ! 
Queen. One woe doth tread upon another's 

heel, 
So fast they follow ; your sister's drown' d, 

Laertes. 
Laer. Drown'd ! O, where ? 
Queen. There is a willow grows aslant a 

brook. 
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy 

stream ; 
There witli fantastic garlands did she come 
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long pur- 
ples 170 
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, 
iint our cold maids do dead men's lingers call 

them : 
There, on the pendent boughs her coronet 

weeds 
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke ; 
When down her weedy trophies and herself 
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread 

wide ; 
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up : 
Which time she chanted snatchesof old tunes; 
As one incapable of her own distress. 
Or like a creature native and indued 180 

Unto that element : but long it could not be 
Till that her garments, heavy with tlieirdrink, 
'PuU'd tlie poor wretch from her melodious lay 
To muddy death. 
Laer. Alas, then, she is drowu'd ? 

Queen. Drown'd, drown'd. 



Laer. Too much of water hast thou, poor 
Ophelia, 
And therefore I forbid my tears : but yet 
It is our tri k ; nature her custom holds. 
Let shame say what it will : when these are 
gone, 18fl 

The woman will be out. Adieu, my lord : 
I have a speech of lire, that fain would blaze. 
But that this folly douts it. [Erit 

King. Let's follow, Gertrude •. 

How much I had to do to calm his rage ! 
Now fear I tliis will give it start again ; 
Therefore let's follow. \_Exeunt 



Y ACT V, 

Scene I. A churchyard. 
Enter two Clowns, loith spades, &c. 

First Clo. Is she to be buried in Christian 
burial that wilfully seeks her own salvation ? 
_ferec. Clo. I tell thee she is : and therefore 
make her grave straight : the crowner hath 
sat on her, and finds it Christian burial. 

First Clo. How can that be, unless she 
drowned herself in her own defence ? 

Sec. Clo. Why, 'tis found so. 

First Clo. It nuist l)e 'se offendeiido ;' it 
cannot be else. For here lies the jioint : if I 
drown myself wittingly, it argues an act : and 
an act hath three branches: it is, to act, to do, 
to perform : argal, she drowned herself wit- 
tingly. 

Sec. Clo. Nay, but hear you, goodman 
delver, — 

First Clo. Give me leave. Here lies the 
water ; good : here stands the man ; good ; if 
the man go to this water, and drown himself, 
it is, will he, nil! he, he goes, — mark you thai ; 
but if the water come to hiju and drown him, 
he drowns not himself : argal, he that is not 
guilty of his own death shortens not his own 
life. 

Sec. Clo. But is this law ? 

First Clo. Ay, marry, is't ; crowuer's quest 
law. 

Sec. Clo. Will you ha' the truth on't ? If 
this had not been a gentlewoman, she should 
have been buried out o' Christian burial. 

First Clo. Why, theie thou say'st : and the 
more pity that great folk should have counte- 
nance in this world to drown or hang them- 
selves, more than their even Christian. Come, 
my spade. There is no ancient gentleman but 
gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers: thej^ 
hold up Adam's profession. 

Sec. Clo. Was he a gentleman ? 

First Clo. He was the first that ever bore 
arms. 

Sec. Clo. Why, he had none. 39 

First Clo. What, art a heathen? How dost 
thou understand the Scripture ? Tlie Scrip- 
t"re says ' Adam digged ' could he dig with- 
out arms ? I'll put another question to thw . 



BCEWB I.] 



HAMLET. 



679 



If thou auswerest me not to the puriwse, confess 
th.vself— 

8ec. Clo. Go to. 

First Clo. Wliat is he that builds stronger 
than either tlie mason, tlie shipwriglit, or tlie 
carpenter ? 

Sec. Clo. The gallows-maker ; for that 
frame outlives a thousand tenants. 50 

First Clo. I like thy wit well, in good faith : 
the gallows does well ; but how does it well ? 
it does well to those that do ill : now thou dost 
ill to say the gallows is built stronger than the 
church : argal, the gallows may do well to 
thee. Tot again, coiue. 

Sec. Clo. ' Who builds stronger than a 
mason, a shipwright, or a carpenter ? ' 

jt^rst Clo. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke. 

:Sec. 'Clo. .Marry, now I can tell. GO 

First 'Ch. To't. 

Sec. Clo. Mass, I cannot tell. 

filter Hamlet and Hor.\tio, at a distance. 

First Clo. Cudgel thy brains no more about 
at, for your dull ass will not mend his pace 
nvith beaJtijig ; and, when you are asked this 
iquestioii next, say ' a grave-maker : ' the 
ihouses chat he makes last till doomsday. Go, 
;get thee to jYaughan : fetch me a stoup of 
(liquor. [Exit Sec. Cloicn. 

[He difjs and sings. 
In youth, when I did love, did love, 

Metliouglit it was very sweet, 70 

VTo contract, 0, the time, for, ah, my behove, 
O, methought, there was nothing meet. 
JIam. Has this fellow no feeling of his busi- 
'ness, that he sings at gi-ave-making ? 

Hot: Custom hath made it in him a prop- 
• erty of easiness. 

Ham. 'Tis e'en so : the hand of little em- 
ployment hath the daintier sense. 
First Clo. [Sint/s.] 
But age, with his stealing steps, 

Hath claw'd me iu his clutch, 80 

And hath shipped me intil the land, 
As if I had never been such. 

[TJiroics lip a sl'iiU. 
Ham. That skull had a tongue Ln it, and 
could sing once : how the knave jowls it to 
the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, that 
did the first murder ! It might be the pate of 
SI ])oliticiau, which this ass now o'er-reaches ; 
cue that would circumvent God, might it not ? 
Hor. It might, my lord. Sit 

Ham. Or of a courtier ; which could say 
* Good morrow, sweet lord ! How dost tlioii, 
€ood lord ?' This miglit be my lord such-a- 
cne, that praised my lord such-a-one's horse, 
»vhen he meant to beg it ; inight it not ? 
Hor. Ay, my lord. 

//((»!. Why, e'en so: and now my Lady 
Worm's ; chapless, and knocked about the 
mazzard with a sexton's spade: here's fine 
revolution, an we had the trick to see't. Did 
these bones cost no more the breeding, but to 
play at loggats with 'gm ? Jniue ache to think 
ott't 101 



First Clo. [Sinys] 

A pick-axe, and a spade, a spade, 

For and a shrouding slieet : 
O, a pit of clay for to be n)ade 
For such a guest is meet. 

[Tliroivs vp another skull. 

Ham. There's another : why may not that 
be the skull of a lawyer ? Where be his quid- 
dities now, his (p'illets, his cases, his tenures,, 
and his triclcs ? why does he suffer this rude 
knave now to knock hiui about the sconce with 
a dirty shovel, and will not tell him of his 
action of battery ? Hum ! This fellow might 
be in's time a great buyer of land, with his 
statutes, his recognizances, his fines, his double 
vouchers, his recoveries : is this the fine of 
his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, 
to have his fine pate full of fine diit ? will 
his vouchers vouch him no more of his pur- 
chases, and double ones too, than the length 
and breadth of a i)air of iudentui-es ? The very 
conveyances of his lands will hardly lie in 
this box ; and must the inheritor himself have 
no more, ha ? 

Hor. Not a jot more, my lord. 

Ham. Is not parchment made of sheep- 
skins ? 

Hor. Ay, ray lord, and of calf-skins too. 

Ham. They are sheep and calves which 
seek out assurance in that. I wiU speak to this 
fellow. Whose grave's this, sirrah ? 

First Clo. Mine, sir. 

[Sinys] 0, a pit of clay for to be made 

For such a guest is meet. 130 

Ham. I think it be thine, indeed ; for thou 
liest in 't. 

First Clo. You lie out on't, sir, and there- 
fore it is not yours : for my part, I do not lie 
in't, and yet it is mine. 

Ham. Thou dost lie in't, to be in't and say 
it is thine : 'tis for the dead, not for tlie quick ; 
therefore thou liest. 

First Clo. 'Tis a quick lie, sir ; 'twill away 
again, from me to you. 140 

Ham. What man dost thou dig it for ? 

First Clo. For no man, sir. 

Ham. What woman, then? 

First Clo. For none, neither. 

//«m. Who is to be buried in't ? 

First Clo. One that was a woman, sir ; but, 
rest her soul, she's dead. 

Ham. How absolute the knave is ! we must 
speak by the card, or equivocation will undo 
us. By the Lord, Horatio, these three years I 
liave taken a note of it ; the age is grown so 
])icked that tlie toe of the peasant comes so 
near the heel of the courtier, he galls his kibe. 
How long hast thou been a grave-maker ? 

First Clo. Of all the days i' the year, I 
came to't that day that our last king Hamlet 
overcame Fortinbras. 

Ham. How long is that since ? 

First Clo. Cannot you tell that ? every fool 
can tell that : it was the very day t'.iat young 
Hamlet was bom ; he that is mad, and seut 
into Englaud, 



680 



HAMLET. 



[Act y. 



Tlam. Ay, m.arry, why was he sent into 
England ? 

First Clo. Why, because he was mad : he 
shall recover his wits there ; or, if he do not, 
it's no great matter there. 

Ham. Why ? 

First Clo. 'Twill not be seen in him there ; 
there the men are as mad as he. 170 

Ham. How came he mad ? 

First Clo. Very strangely, they say. 

Ham. How strangely ? 

First Clo. Faith, e'en with losing his wits. 

Ham. Upon what ground ? 

First Clo. Why, here in Denmark : I have 
been sexton here, man and boy, thirty years. 

Ham. How long will a man lie i' the earth 
ere he rot ? 179 

First Clo. V faith, if he be not rotten before 
he die — as we have many pocky corses now-a- 
days, that will scarce hold the laying in — he 
will last you some eight year or nine j-ear : a 
tanner will last you nine year. 

Ham. Why he more than another ? 

First Clo. Why, sir, liis hide is so tanned 
•with his trade, that he will keep out water a 
great while ; and your water is a sore decayer 
of your whoreson dead body. Here s a skull 
now ; this skull has lain in the earth three and 
twenty years. 191 

Ham' Whose was it ? 

First Clo. A whoreson mad fellow's it was : 
whose d<j % ou think it was ? 

Ham. Nay, I know not. 

First Clo. A ])estilence on him for a mad 
rogue ! a' poured a flagon of Rhenish on my 
head once. This same skull, sir, was Yorick's 
skull, the king's jester. 

Ham. This ? 200 

First Clo. E'en that. 

Ham. Let me see. {Takes the skull.'] Alas, 
poor Yorick ! I knew him, Horatio : a fellow 
of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy : he 
hath borne me on his back a thousand times ; 
and now, how abhorred in my imaginatio!\ it is ! 
my gorge rises at it. Here hung tliose lips that 
I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be 
your gibes now ? your gambols ? your songs ? 
your flashes of merriment, tliat were wont to 
set the table on a roar ? Not one now, to mock 
your own grinning ? quite chap-fallen ? Now 
get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, 
let her paint an inch thick, to this favor she 
must come ; make her laugh at that. Prithee, 
Horatio, tell me one tiling. 

Hor. What's that, my lord ? 

Ham. Dost thou think Alexander looked 
o' this fashion i' the earth ? 

Hor. E'en so. 220 

Ham^ And smelt so ? pah ! 

yPuts doion the skull. 

Hor. E'en so, my lord. 

Ham. To what base uses we may return, 
Horatio ! Why may not imagination ' .-ace the 
noble dust of Alexander, till he find it stopping 
a buug-holc ? [consider so. 

Hor. 'Twere to consider too curiously, to 



Ham. No, faith, not a jot ; but to follow him 
thither with modesty enough, and likelihood 
to lead it : as thus : Alexander died, Alex- 
ander was buried, Alexander returneth into 
du.st ; tlie dust is earth ; of earth we make 
loam ; and why of that loam, whereto he was 
converted, might they not stop a beer-barrel ? 
Imperious C?esar, dead and turn'd to cLay, 
Might .stop a hole to keep the wind away : 
O, that that earth, which kept the world in 

awe. 
Should patch a wall to expel the winter's 
flaw ! 
But soft ! but soft! aside : here comes the 
king. 

Enter Priest, &c. in procession ; the Coi-jjse of 
Ophei.ta, Laertes and Moavneis following; 
King, Queex, their trains, &£. 

The queen, the courtiers : who is this they 

follow ? 
And v.'ith such maimed rites? This doth be- 
token 
The corse they follow did with desperate hand 
Fordo its own life : 'twas of some estate. 
Couch we awhile, and mark. 

[Retirinfi with Horatio. 
Laer. What ceremony else ? 
Ham. That is Laertes, 

A very noble youth : mark. 
Laer. What ceremony else ? 
First Priest. Her obsequies have been as 
far enlarged 
As we have warrantise : her death was doubt- 
ful ; 250 
And, but that great command o'ersways t-he 

order. 
She should in ground unsanctified have lodged 
Till the last trumpet : for charitable prayers, 
Shards, flints and pebbles should be thrown on 

her ; 
Yet here she is allow'd her virgin crants. 
Her maiden strewments and the bringing home 
Of bell and burial. 
Laer. Must there no more be done ? 
First Priest. No more be done : 

We should profane the service of the dead 
To sing a requiem and such rest to her 260 
As to peace-parted souls. 

Laer. Lay her i' the earth : 

And from her fair and unpolluted flesh 
Jlay violets spring ! I tell thee, churlish priest. 
A ministering angel shall my sister be. 
When thou liest howling. 
Ham. What, the fair Ophelia! 

Queen. Sweets to the sweet : farewell I 

[Scatterinr/ flowers. 
I hoped thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's 

wife ; 
I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet 

maid, 
And not have strew'd thy grave. 

Laer. 0, treble woe 

Fall ten times treble on that cursed head, 270 
Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense 
Deprived thee of I Hold off the earth awhile, 



ScTEire II,] 



HAMLET. 



681 



Till I have caaght her once more In mine amis : 
\_Leaj)s into the r/rave. 
Now pile j'oiir dust upon the quick and dead, 
Till of this flat a mountain you have made, 
To o'eitoj) old Pelion, or the skyish head 
Of l)lue Olympus. 

Ham. [Adcancin(j'\ What is he whose grief 
Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of 

sorrow 
Conjures tlie wandering stars, and makes them 

stand 
Like wonder-wounded hearers? Tliis is I, 280 
Hamlet the Dane. {^Lcaps into the r/rare. 

Laer. The devil take thy soul ! 

[Grdppliiiy with hinu 
Ham. Thou pray'st not well. 
I prithee, take tiiy fingers from my throat ; 
For, though I am not sjilenitive and rash. 
Yet have I something in me dangerous, 
Which let thy wiseness fear : hold off thy hand 
Kin(4. Pluck them a sunder. 
Queen. Hamlet, Hamlet 1 

All. Gentlemen, — 

Uor. Good my lord, be quiet 

[Tlie Attendants part them, and they 
come Old of (he fp-nre. 
Fam. Why I will fight with him ni)on this 
theme 
Until my eyelids will no longer wag. 290 

Queen. O my son, what theme? 
JIam. I loved Ophelia : forty thousand 
brothers 
Could not, with all their quantity of love. 
Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her? 
Kin;/. O, he is mad, Laertes. 
Queen. For love of God, forbear him. 
Ham. 'Swounds, show me what thou'lt do: 
Woo't weep ? won't fight? woo'tfast? woo't 

tear thyself ? 
Woo't drink up eisel ?_ eat a crocodile ? 
I'll do't. Dost thou come here to whine ? 300 
To outface me with leaping in her grave ? 
lie buried quick with her, and so will 1 : 
And, if thou prate of mountains, let thera 

throw 
Millions of acres on ns, till our ground, 
Singeing his pate against the burning zone, 
Make Ossa like a wart 1 Nay, an thou'lt 

mouth, 
I'll rant as well as thou. 

Queen. This is mere madness : 

And thus awhile the fit will work on him ; 
Anon, as patient as the female dove, 
When tliat her golden couplets are disclosed, 
His silence will sit drooiiing. 

JIam. Hear you, sir ; 

What is the reason that yon use me thus ? 
I loved you ever : but it'is no matter ; 
Let Hercules himself do what he may, 
The cat will mew and dog will have his dav 

(£xU. 

King. I pray you, good Horatio, wait upon 

him. [Exit Horatio. 

\To Laertes] Strengthen your patience in our 

last night's speech ; 
W^)*!! put the matter to the present push. 



Good Gertrude, set some watch over your Eon, 
This grave shall liave a living monument ; 320 
An hour of quiet shortly shall we see ; 
Till then, in patience our proceeding he 
i . [Exnint- 

i.^vj^gcENE II. A hall In the castle. 
Enter Hamlet and Horatio. 

Ham. So much for this, sir : now shall yoa 
see the otlier ; 
You do remember all tlie circumstance? 

y/or. Kemember it, my lord ? 

//am. Sir, in my hcait there was a kind of 
fighting, 
That would not let me sleep : methought I lay 
Worse than the mutines in the bilboes. ItJishly, 
And praised be rashness for it, let us know, 
Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well. 
When our deep plots do pall : and tliat should 

teach ns 
There's a divinity that shapes our ends, 10 
Rough-hew them how we will, — 

Jlor. That is most cei-taii^- 

Jlam. Up from my cabin. 
My sea-gown scarf'd about me, in the dark 
Groped 1 to find out them ; hnd my desire, 
Finger'd their packet, and in fine withdrew 
To mine own room again ; making so bold, 
My fears forgetting manners, to unseal 
Tlieir grand commission ; where I found, Ho- 
ratio, — 

royal knavery ! — an exact command. 
Larded with many several sorts of reasons 20 
Im[)oi ting Denmark's health and England's too, 
With, ho ! such bugs and goblins in my life. 
That, on the n])ervise, no leisure b:ited, 

No, not to stay the grinding of the axe. 
My head should hh struck off. 

Hor. Is't possible ? 

Ham. Here's the commission : read it at 
more leisure. 
But wilt thou hear me how I did proceed ? 

Hor. I beseech you. 

Ham. Being thus be-netted round with vil« 
lanies, — 
Ere I could make a prologue to my brains, 30 
They had Ijegun the play — I sat me down. 
Devised a new commission, wrote it fair : 

1 once did hold it, as our stati.^ts do, 

A baseness to write fair and labor'd much 
How to forget that learning, but, sir, now 
It did me yeoman's service : wilt thou know 
The effect of what I wrote ? 
Hor. Ay, good my lord. 

Ham. An earnest conjuration from the 
king, 
As England was his faithful tributary. 
As love between thera Hke the palm might 
flourish, 40 

As peace should still her wlieaten garland 

wear 
And stand a comma 'tween their amities. 
And many such-like ' As'es of great charge. 
That, on the view and knowing of these con- 
tents, 



6!S2 



HAMLET. 



[Act r. 



Without debatement further, more or less, 
He should the bearers put to sudden death, 
Not shriviug-time allow' d. 
Hon. How was this seal'd ? 

Ham. Why, even in that was heaven or- 
dmant. 
I had my father's signet in my purse, 
Which was the model of that Danish seal ; 50 
Folded tlie writ up in form of the other, 
Subscribed it, gave't the impression, placed it 

safely. 

The changeling never known. Now, the next 

• day [quent 

Was our sea-fight ; and what to this vms se- 

Thou kuow'st already. 

Hor. So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go 

to't. 
Ham. Why, man, they did make love to 
this employment ; 
They are not near my conscience ; their de- 
feat 
Does by their own insinuation grow. 
'Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes 
Between the puss and fell incensed points 61 
Of mighty opposites. 
Hor. Why, what a king is this ! 

Ham. Does it not, think'st thee, stand me 
now upon — ■ 
He that hath kill'd my king and whored my 

mother, v ; 

Popp'd in between the election and my hopes. 
Thrown out his angle for my proper life, 
And with such cozenage — is't not perfect con- 
science, 
To quit him with this arm? and is't not to be 

damn'd, 
To let this canker of our nature come 
In further evil? 70 

Hor. It must be shortly known to him 
from England 
What is the issue of the business tliere. 

Ham. It will be short : the interim is mine; 
And a man's life's no more tlian to say ' One.' 
But I am very sorry, good Horatio, 
That to Laertes I forgot myself ; 
For, by the image of my cause, I see 
The portraiture of his : I'll court his favors 
But, sure, the bravery of his grief did imt me 
Into a towering passion. 
Hor. Peace ! who comes here ? 80 

Enter Osmc. \ 

Osr. Your lordship is right welcome back 
to Denmark. 

Ham. I humbly thank you, sir. Dost know 
this water-fly ? 

Hor. No, my good lord. 

Ham. Thy state is the more gracious ; for 
'tis a vice to know him. He hath much land, 
and fertile : let a beast be lord of beasts, and 
his crib shall stand at the lung's mess : 'tis a 
chough ; but, as I say, spacious m the pos- 
eession of dirt. 90 

O.sr. Sweet lord, if your lordship were at 
leisure, I should impart a thing to you from 
bis majesty. 



Ham. I will receive it, sir, with all dili- 
gence of spirit. Put your bonnet to his right 
use ; 'tis for the head. 
Osr. I thank your lordship, it is very hot. 

Ham. No, believe me, 'tis very cold ; the 

wind is northerly. 99 

Osr. It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed. 

Ham. But yet methinks it is very sultry 
and hot for my complexion. 

Osr. Exceedingly, my Ir-rd ; it is very sul- 
try, — as 'twere, — I cannot tell how. But, my 
lord, his majesty bade me signify to you that 
he has laid a great wager on your head : sir, 
this is tlie matter, — 

Earn. I beseech you, remember — 

[Hamlet moves him to put on his hat. 

Osr. Nay, good my lord ; for mine ease, in 
good faitli. Sir, here is newly come to court 
Laertes ; believe me, an absolute gentleman, 
full of most excellent differences, of very soft 
society and great showing : indeed, to speak 
feelingly of him, he is the card or calendar of 
gentry, for you shall find in him the cooti* 
ut lit of wliat part a gentleman would see. . 

Ham. Sir, his definement suffers no perdi- 
tion in j'ou ; chough, I know, to divide him 
iuventorially would dizzy the arithmetic of 
memory, tand yet but yaw neitner, in re- 
spect of his quick sail, a But, in the verity of 
extolment, I talte him to be a soul of great 
article ; and his infusion of such dearth and 
rareness, as, to make true diction of him, hia 
semblal:)le is his mirror •, and who else would 
trace him, his umbrage, nothing more. 

Osr, Your lordship speaks most infallibly 
of him. 

Ham. The concemancy, sir ? why do we 
wrap the gentleman in our more rawer 
breath ? 

Ors. Sir? " 130 

Hor. Is't not possible to understand in an- 
other tongue? You will do't, sir, really. 

Ham. What imports the nomination of 
this gentleman ? 

Ors. Of Laertes? 

Hor. His purse is empty already; all's 
golden words are spent. 

Ham. Of him, sir. 

Ors. I know you are not ignorant — 

Ham. I would yoit did, sir ; yet, in faith, 
if you did, it would not much approve me. 
Well, sir. 

Ors. You are not ignorant of what excel- 
lence Laertes is — 

Ham. I dare not confess that, lest I should 
compare with him in excellence ; but, to 
know a man well, were to know himself, 

Osr. I mean, sir, for his wea'^on ; but in 
the imputation laid on him by them, in hia 
meed he's unfellowed. ■ 150 

Ham. What's his weapon? 

Osr. Rapier and dagger. 

Ham. That's two of his weapons : but, 
well. , 

Osr. The king, sir, hath wagered with him 
six Barbary horses : against the which he htm 



8CENB II.] 



EAMLST. 



Imponed, as I take it, six Frencli rapiers and 
poniards, with their assij^us, as girdle, liang- 
ers, and so : three of the carriages, in faith, 
are very dear to fancy, very responsive to the 
hilts, most delicate carriages, and of very lib- 
eral conceit. 

Hum. What call you the carriages ? 

Hot: I knew you must be edified by the 
coargent ere you had done. 

Osr. The carriages, sir, are the hangers. 
' Ha7n. The phrase would be more german 
to the matter, if we could carry cuiuou by 
our sides : I would it might be hangers till 
tlicn. But, on : six Barbary horses against 
eix French swords, their assigns, and three 
liberal-conceited carriages ; that's the French 
bet against the Danish. Why is this 'im- 
poned,' as you call it ? 171 

Osr. The king, sir, hath laid, that in a doz- 
en passes between yourself and him, he shall 
not exceed you three hits : he hath laid on 
twelve for nine , and it would come to im- 
mediate trial, if your lordship would vouch- 
eafe the answer. 

Hain. How if I answer ' no ' ? 

Osr. I mean, my lord, the opposition of 
your person in trial. 179 

Ham. Sir, will vralk here in the hall : if 
It please his majesty, 'tis the breathing time 
of day with me ; let the foils be brought, the 
gentleman willing, and the king hold his pur- 
pose, I will win for him an I can ; if not, I 
will gam nothing but my shame and the oda 
hits. . 

Osr. Shall I re-deliver you e'en so ? 

Ham. To this effect, sir ; after what flou- 
rish your nature will. 

Osr. 1 commend my duty to your lordship. 

Ilnm. Yours, yours. [Exit Osric] He does 
well to commend it to himself ; there are no 
tongues else for's turn. 

Jlor. This lapwing runs away with the 
shell on his head. 

.Ham. He did comply with his dug, before 
he sucked it. Thus has he — and many more 
of the same bevy that I know the drossy age 
dotes on — only got the tune of the time and 
outward habit of encounter ; a kind of yesty 
collection, which carries them through and 
through tiie most tfond and winnowed ojnii- 
ions ; and do but blow them to their trial, the 
bubbles are out. 

Enter a Lord. 

Lord. My lord, his majesty commended 
him to you by young Osric, who brings back 
to him. that you attend him in the hall : he 
sends to know if your pleasure hold to play 
with Laertes, or that you will take longer 
time. 

Ham. I am constant to ray purposes : they 
follow the king's pleasure : if his fitness 
speaks, mine is ready ; now or whensoever, 
provided I be so able as now. 211 

Lord. The king and queen and all are coni' 
ing down. 



Hain. In happy time. 

Lord. The queen desires you to use some 
gentle entertainment to Laertes before you 
tall to play. 

Ham. Shu well instructs me. [Exit Lord. 

Hor. You will lose this wager, my lord. 

Haiyi. I do not think so : since he went 
into France, I have been in continual prac- 
tice : I shall win at the odds. But tliou 
wouldst not think how ill all's here about my 
heart : but it is no matter. 

Hor. Nay, good my lord, — 

Hum. It is but foolery ; but it is such a 
kind of gain-giving, as would perhaps trouble 
a woman. 

Hor. If your mind dislike any thing, obey 
it : I will forestal their repair hither, and say 
you are not fit. 229 

Ham. Not a whit, we defy augury : there's 
a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. 
If it be now, 'tis not to come ; if it be not to 
come, it will be now ; if it be not now, yet it 
will come : the readiness is all : since no man 
has aught of what he leaves, what is't to leave 
betimes ? 

Enter King, Queen, Laebtes, Lords, Osbic, 
and Attendants tvith foils, &c. 

King. Come, Hamlet, come, and take this 

hand from me. 
{The King puts Laertes' hand into Hamlet's. 
Ham. uive mo your pardon, sir : I've done 
you wrong ; 

But pjirdon't, as you are a gentleman. 

This presence knows, 

And you must needs have heard, how I am 
punish'd 240 

\V'ith sore distraction. What I have done, 

That might your nature, honor and excejition 

Roughly awake, I here proclaim was mad- 
ness. 

Was't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes? Never Ham- 
let : 

If Hamlet from himself be ta'en away, 

And when he's not himself does wrong Laer- 
ies. 

Then Hamlet dons it not, Hamlet denies it. 

Who does it, then ? His madness : if't be so, 

Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong'd ; 

His madness is poor Hamlet's enemy. 250 

Sir, in this audience. 

Let my disclaiming from a purposed evil 

Free me so far in your most generous 
thoughts. 

That I have shot mine arrow o er the house, 

And hurt my brother. 
Laer. I am satisfied in nature. 

Whose" motive, hi this case, should stir me 
most 

To my revenge : but in my terms of honor 

1 stand aloof; and will no reconcilement, 

Till by some elder masters, of known honor, 

1 have a voice and precedent of i>eace, 2&. 

To keep my name ungored. But till tliat 
time, 

I do xeceive jroiu offes'd love like lov^. 



684 



BAMLET. 



[Act r. 



And will not wrong it. 

Hani. I embrace it freely ; 

And will this brother's wager frankly play. 
Give us the foils. Come on. 
Laer. Come, one for me. 

Ham. I'll be your foil, Laertes : in mine 
ignorance 
Your skill shall, like a star i' the darkest 

night. 
Stick fiery off indeed. 
Laer. You mock me, sir. 

Ham. No, by this hand. 
King. Give them the foils, young Osric. 
Cousin Hamlet, 270 

You know the wager ? 

Ham. Very well, my lord ; 

Your grace hath laid the odds o' the weaker 
side. 
King. I do not fear it ; I have seen you 
both: 
But since he is better'd, we have therefore 
odds. 
La£r, This is too heavy, let me see another. 
Ham. This likes me well. These foils have 
all a length ? [ They jyrepare to play. 
Osr. Ay, my good lord. 
King. Set me the stoups of wine upon that 
table. 
If Hamlet give the first or second hit, 
Or quit in answer of the third exchange, 280 
Let all the battlements their ordnance fire ; 
The king shall drink to Hamlet's better breath ; 
And in the cup an union shall he throw, 
Richer than that which four successive kings 
In Denmark's crown have worn. Give me the 

cups ; 
And let the kettle to the trumpet speak, 
The trumpet to the cannoneer without. 
The cannons to the heavens, the heavens to 

earth, 
' Now the king drinks to Hamlet.' Come, be- 
gin : 
And you, the judges, bear a wary eye. 290 
Ham. Come on, sir. 

Laer. Come, my lord. [They play. 

Ham. One. 

Laer. No. 

Ham. Judgment. 

Osr. A hit, a very palpable hit. 
Laer. Well ; again. 

King. Stay ; give me drink. Hamlet, this 
pearl is thine ; 
Here's to thy health. 

[^Trumpets sound, and cannon shot off 
within. 
Give him the cup. 
Ham. I'll play this bout first ; set it by 
awhile. 
C!ome. [They play.] Another hit ; what say 
you ? 
Laer. A touch, a touch, I do confess. 
Kin^. Our son shall win. 
Queen. He's fat, and scant of breath. 

Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy 

brows ; 
The queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet. 



Ham. Good madam 1 301 

.King. Gertrude, do not drink. 

Queen. I vrill, my lord ; I pray you, pardon 

me. 
King. [Aside] It is the poison'd cup : it is 

too late. 
Hain. I dare not drink yet, madam ; by 

and by. 
Queen. Come, let me wipe thy face. 
Laer. My lord, I'll hit him now. 
King. I do not think't. 

Laer. [Aside] And yet 'tis almost 'gainst 

my conscience. 
Ham. Come, for the third, Laertes : you 
but dally ; 
I pray you, pass with your best violence ; 
I am afeard you make a wanton of me. 310 
Laer. Say you so ? come on. [They play 
Osr. Nothing, neither way. 
Laer. Have at you now ! 
[Laertes loounds Hamlet ; then in scuffling, 
they change rapiers, and Hamlet wounds 
Laertes. 
King. Part them ; they are incensed. 
Ham. Nay, come, again. [The Queen falls. 
Osr. Look to the queen there, ho ' 

Hor. They bleed on both sides. How is it, 

my lord ? 
Osr. How is't, Laertes ? 
Laei: Why, as a woodcock to mine own 
springe, Osric ; 
I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery. 
Ham. How does the queen ? 
King. She swounds to see them bleed. 

Queen. No, no, the drink, the drink, — O 
my dear Hamlet, — 320 

The drink, the drink ! I am poison'd. [Dies. 
Ham. villany ! Ho ! let the door be 
lock'd : 
Treacherj- ! Seek it out. 
Laer. It is here, Hamlet : Hamlet, thou 
art slain ; 
No medicine in the world can do thee good ; 
In thee there is not half an hour of life ; 
The treacherous instrument is in thy hand, 
Unbated and envenom'd : the foul practice 
Hath turn'd itself on me ; lo, here I lie, 329 
Never to rise again : thy mother's poison'd: 
I can no more : the king, the king's to blame. 

Ham. The point ! — envenom'd too ! 
Then, venom, to thy work. [Stabs the King. 
AIL Treason ! treason ! 
King. 0, yet defend me, friends ; I am but 

hurt. 
Ham. Here, thou incestuous, murderous, 
damned Dane, 
Drink off this potion. Is thy union here ? 
Follow my mother. [King dies. 

Laer. He is justly served ; 

It is a poison temper' d by himself. 339 

Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet: 
^Mine and my father's death come not upon 

thee. 
Nor thine on me. [Dies. 

Ham. Heaven make thee free of it 1 1 fol- 
low thee. 




Hamlet. " Horatio, I am dead: 

Thou livest : report vie and my cause aright 
To the unsatisfied''^ 



Hamlet, p 63s 



fccENK 11.] 



HAMLET. 



688 



I am dead, Horatio. Wretched queen, adieu I 
You that look pale and tremble at this chance, 
That are but mutes or audience to this act, 
Had I but time — as this fell sergeant, death, 
Is strict in his arrest — O, I could tell you — 
But let it be. Horatio, I am dead ; 
Thou livest ; report me and my cause aright 
To the unsatisfied. 

Hor. Never believe it : 351 

I am more an antique Roman than a Dane : 
Here's yet some liquor left. 

Ham. As thou'rt a man, 

Give me the cup : let go ; bj:- heaven, I'll 
have"t. 

good Horatio, what a wounded name, 
Things standing thus unknown, shall live be- 
hind me 1 

If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart 

Absent thee from felicity awhile, 

And in this harsh world draw thy breath in 

pain, 
To tell my story. 

{yfarch afar off, and shot ivithin. 
What warlikeuoise is this ? 360 
Osr. Young Fortinbras, with conquest come 
from Poland, 
To the ambassadors of England gives 
This warlike vollej\ 

Ham. 0, I die, Horatio ; 

The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit : 

1 cauuot live to hear the news from England ; 
But I do prophesy the election lights 

On Fortinbras : he has my dying voice ; 

So tell him, with the occurrents, more and 

less. 
Which have solicited. The rest is silence. 
, [Dies. 

t Hor. Now cracks a noble heart. Good 
^^ night, sweet prince : 370 

And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest ! ) 
Why does the drum come hither ? / 

[Afarch within. 

Enter Fortinbras, the English Ambassadors, 
and others. 

Fort. Where is this sight ? 

Hor. What is it ye would see ? 

If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search. 

Fort. Tliis quarry cries on havoc. O proud 
death. 
What feast is toward in thme eternal cell, 
fhat thou so many princes at a shot 



So bloodily hast struck ? 

First Amb. The sight is dismal ; 

And our affairs from England come too late : 
The ears are senseless that should give us 

hearing, 
To tell him his commandment is fulfiU'd, 381 
That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead : 
Where should we have our thanks ? 

Hor. Not from his mouth. 

Had it the ability of life to thank you : 
He never gave commandment for their death. 
But since, so jump upon this bloody question. 
You from the Polack wars, and you from Eng- 
land, 
Are here arrived, give order tliat these bodies 
High on a stage be placed to the view ; 389 
And let me speak to the yet unknowing world 
How these things came about: so shall you 

hear 
Of carnal, bloody, and unnatural acts, 
Of accidentjil judgments, casual shiughters. 
Of deaths put on by cunning and forced cause, 
And, in this upshot, purposes mistoolc 
Fall'n on the inventors' heads : all this can I 
Truly deliver. 

Fort. Let us haste to hear it, 

And call the noblest to the audience. 
For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune : 
I have some rights of memory in tiiis kingdom, 
Which now to claim my vantage doth invite 

me. 
Hor. Of that I shall have also cause to 

speak. 
And from his mouth whose voice will draw on 

more ; 
But let this same be presently perform'd. 
Even while men's minds are wild ; lest more 

mischance 
On plots and errors, liappen. 

Fort. Let four captains 

Bear Hamlet, like a soldier, to the stage ; 
For he was likely, had he been put on. 
To have proved most roj-ally : and, for his 

passage. 
The soldiers' music and the rites of w^r 410 
Speak loudly for him. 
Take up the bodies : such a sight as this 
Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss. 
Go, bid the soldiers shoot. 

lA dead march. Exeunt, heanng off the 
dead bodies ; after ichich a peal oj'ord' 
narijce is shot off. 



/^ 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



(written about 1602.) 



INTRODUCTION. 

Among the plays or Shakespeare mentioned by Merea in his Palladis Tamia (1b£>f>') occurs tne 
name of Love's Labour's Won. This has been identitied by some critics witli The Taming of the 
Shrew and by others with Much Ado About JSfothlng; but the weight of authority inclines to the 
opinion that under this title Meres spoke of the play known to us as All's Well that Ends Well. It 
seems not improbable ihat All's Well, as we possess it in the First Folio— and no earlier edition 
exists — is a rehandling, very thorougtily carried out, of an earlier version of this comedy. Coleridge 
believed that two styles were discernible in it ; and there is certainly a larger proportion of rhyming 
lines in it than in any otlier play written after the year li;00. It is, liowever. far from certaiii that 
any portion of the play is of early origin, and assigning tonjecturally the date about 1G02 as that of 
the completion of tlij whole, we may view it as belonging to the later group of the second cycle of 
Shakespeare's comedies, not so early, therefore, as Twelfth Night or As You Like It, and certainly 
earlier than Afeasurefor Measure. The story of Helena and Bertram was found by Shakespeare in 
Fiiynter's Palace of Pleasure 05(iG), Paynier having translated it from the Decameron at Boccacio 
(Novel 9, Third day). Sliakespeare added the characters of the Countess, Lafeu, Parolles, and the 
Clown. What interested the poet's ima;;ination in Boecaeio's story was evidently the position and 
person of the lieroine. In Boccacio, Giletta, the physician's daughter, is inferior in rank to the 
young Count, Beltramo, btit she is rich. Shakespeare's Helena is of humbler birth than his Ber- 
tram, and she is also poor. Yet poor, and comparatively low-born, she aspires to be the young 
Count's wife, slie pursues him to Paris, and wins him against his will. To show Helena thus re- 
versing in a me.asnre the ordinary relations of man and woman, and yet to show her neither self- 
Beeking nor unwomanly, was th task which the dramatist attempted. On the one hand he insists 
much on Bertram's youth, and gives him tlie faults and vices of y-'.ith, making the reader or specta* 
tor of the play feel that his hero has great need of such a flnely-ujmpered, right-willed and loyal 
nature to stand by his side as that of Helena. On the other hand he shows us Helena's enthusiastic 
attachment to Bertram, her fears and cares on his behalf, her adhesion to him rather than to herself, 
when her husband seems to set their interests in opposition to one another, until we come to feel 
that the imperious need which makes Helena overstep social conventions is the need of perfect 
service to the man she loves. Bertram's beauty and courage must bear part of the blame for 
Helena's loving him better than he deserves. With the youthful desire for independence which 
makes him break away from her, she can intelligently sympathize. In the last Act she appears — 
when h ; has entangled himself in falsehood and shame — to save him, and rescue him from his baser 
self. We feel that when he has at last really found Helena, he is safe, an(l all ends well, Parolles, 
the incantation of bragging meanness, is the counterfoil of Helena — she, the doer of virtuous deeds ; 
he, the utterer of vain and swelling words ; she. all brave womanliness ; he, too cowardly for man- 
hood. Parolles has been compared to Falstaff , but they ought rather to be contrasted ; for Sir John 
is a man of genius, with real wit and power of fascination, and no ridicule can destroy him, but the 
exposure of Parolles makes him dwindle into his native pitif ulness. The Countess is a charming' 
creation of Shakespeare ; in no play, unless it be some of his latest romantic dramas, ia old agcr 
made more beautiful and dignified. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



King op France. 
Duke of Florence. 
Bertram, Count of Rousillon. 
Lafeu, an old lord. 
Parolles, a follower of Bertram. 
Steward, J servants to the Countess of 
Clown, J Rousillon. 

A Page. 

Countess of Rousillon, mother to Bertram. 
Helena, a gentlewoman protected by the 
Countcgg 



An old Widow of Florence. 
Diana, daughter to the Widow. 
Violenta, I neighbors and friends to th© 
Mariana, ) Widow. 

Lords, OfHcers, Soldiers, &c., French and 
Florentine. 

. Scene : Rotisillon ; Paris ; Florenee ; 
Marseiilet. 



SCBKB t. 



ALL'S WELL THAT £NDS WELL. 



687 



ACTI. 

Scene I. Ronsillon. TJie Count's palace. 

/?rater Bertram, tJie Countess of Rousillon, 
Helena, and Lafeu, all in black. 

Count. In delivering my sou from me, I 
bury a second husband. 

Ber. And I in going, madam, weep e'er 
my father's death anew : but I must attend 
his majesty's command, to whom I am now in 
"ward, evermore in subjection. 

Laf. You shall find of the king a husband, 
madam ; you, sir, a father : he that so gene- 
tally is at all times good must of necessity hold 
iiis virtue to you ; whose worthiness would 
stir it up where it wanted rather than lack it 
vrhere there is such abundance. 

Count. "Wliat hope is there of his majesty's 
amendment ? 

Laf. He hath abandoned his physicians, 
madam ; under whose practices he hath per- 
eecuted time with hope, and finds no other ad- 
vantage in the process but only the losing of 
hope by time. 

Count. This young gentlewoman had a fa- 
ther, — 0, that ' had ' ! how sad a passage 
'tis ! — whose skill was almost as great as his 
honesty ; had it stretched so far, would have 
made nature immortal, and death should have 
play for lack of work. Would, for the king's 
sake, he were living ! I think it would be the 
death of tlie king's disease. 

Laf. How called you the man you speak of, 
madam ? 
_ Count. He was famous, sir, in his profes- 
sion, and it was his great right to be so : 
Gerard de Xarbon. 31 

Laf. He was excellent indeed, madam : the 
king very liitely si)oke of him admiringly and 
mourningly : he was skilful enough to have 
lived still, if knowledge could be set up against 
mortality. 

Ber. What is it, my good lord, the king 
languishes of ? 

Laf. A fistula, my lord. 

Ber. I heard not of it before. 

Laf. I would it were not notorious. Was 
this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de 
Narbon ? 

Count. His sole child, my lord, and be- 
queathed to my overlooking. I have those 
hopes of her good that her education promises ; 
her dispositions she inherits, which makes fair 
gifts fairer ; for where an unclean mind car- 
ries virtuous qualities, there commendations 
go with pity; they are virtues and traitors too; 
in her they are tlie better for their simplenoss; 
she derives her honesty and achieves her good- 
ness. 

Laf. Your commendations, madam, get 
from her tears. 

Count. 'Tis the best briue a maiden can 
season her praise in. The remembrance of her 
father never approaches her heart but the tyr- 
:auny of her sorrows takes all livelihood from 



her cheek. No more of this, Helena ; go to, 
uo more ; lest it be rather thought you affect 
a sorrow than have it. 61 

Hel. I do affect a sorrow indeed, but I have 
it too. 

Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of 
the dead, excessive grief the enemy to the 
living. 

Count. If the living be enemy to the grief, 
the excess makes it soon mortal. 

Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes. 

Laf. How understand Ve that"? 

Count. Be thou blest, Bertram, and suc- 
ceed thy father 70 
In manners, as in shape ! thy blood and virtue 
Contend for em^)ire in thee, and thy goodness 
Share with thy birthright ! Love all, trust a 

few, 
Do wrong to none : be able for thine enemy 
Rather in power than use, and keep thy 
friend [lence. 

Under thy own life's key : be check'd for si- 
But never tax'd for speech. What heaven 
more will, [down, 

That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck 
Full on thy head ! Farewell, my lord ; 
'Tis an unseasou'd courtier ; good my lord, 80 
Advise him. 

Laf. He cannot want the best 
That shall attend his love. 

Count. Heaven bless him ! Farewell, Bert- 
tram. . [Exit. 

Ber, [To Helena] the best wishes that 
can be forged in your thoughts be servants to 
you ! Be comfortable to my mother, yo.ur 
mistress, and make much of her. 

Laf. Farewell, pretty lady : you must hold 
the credit of your father. 

[Exexmt Bertram and Lafeu. 

Hel. 0, were that all 1 I tliljk not on my 

father ; 90 

And these great tears grace his remembrance 

more 
Than those I shed for hira. What was helike ? 
I have forgot him : my imagination 
Carries no favor iu't but Bertram's. 
I am undone : there is no living, none. 
If Bertram be away. 'Twere all one 
That I should love a bright particular star 
And think to wed it, he is .so above me : 
In his bright radiance and collateral light 
Mu.st I be comforted, not in his sphere. 100 
The ambition in my love thus plagues itself ; 
The hind that would be mated by the lion 
Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a 

plague, 
To see him every hour ; to sit and draw 
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, 
In our heart's table : heart too capable 
Of every line and trick of his sweet favor : 
But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy 
Must sanctify his reliques. Who comes here ? 

Enter Parolles. 

[Aside^ One that goes with him : I love him 
for bis sake ; UQ 



ALVS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



(Act I 



Aiid yet I know him a notorious liar, 

Think him a great way fool, solely a coward ; 

Yet these fixed evils sit so fit in him, 

That they take place, when virtue's steely 

bones 
tLook bleak i' the cold wind : withal, full oft 

we see 
nold wisdom waitius on superfluous folly. 

Par. Save you, fair queen 1 

Hel. And you, monarch 1 

Par. No. 

Hel. And *io. 120 

Par. Are you meditating on virginity ? 

Hel. Ay. You have some stain of soldier 
in you : let me ask you a question. Man is 
enemy to virginity ; how may we barricado it 
against him ? 

Par. Keep him out. 

Hel. But he assails ; and our virginity, 
though valiant, in the defence yet is weak : 
unfold to us some warlike resistance. 

Par. There is none: man, sittiug down 
before you, will undermine you and blow you 
up. 130 

Hel. Bless our poor virginity from under- 
miuers and blowers up ! Is there no military 
policy, how virgins might blow up men ? 

Par. Virginity being blown down, man will 
quicklier be blown up ; marry, in blowing him 
down again, with the breach yourselves made, 
you lose your city. It is not politic in the 
commonwealth of nature to preserve virginity. 
Loss of virginity is rational increase and there 
was never virgin got till virginitj^ was first 
lost. That you were made of is metal to make 
virgins. Virginity by being once lost may be 
ten times found ; by being ever kept, it is ever 
lost : 'tis too cold a companion ; away with 't ! 

Hel. I will stand for 't a little, though tliere- 
forB I die a virgin. 

Par. There's little can be said in 't ; 'tis 
against the rule of nature. To speak on the 
part of virginity, is to accuse your mothers ; 
which is most infallible disobedience. He that 
hangs himself is a virgin : virginity murders 
itself aud should be buried in highways out of 
all sanctified limit, as a desperate offendress 
against nature. Virginity breeds mites, much 
like a cheese ; consumes itself to the very 
paring, and so dies with feeding his own 
stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, proud, 
idle, made of self-love, which is the most in- 
hibited sin in the canon. Keep it not ; you 
cannot choose but loose by't : out with 't I 
within ten year it will make itself ten, which 
Is a goodly increase ; and the principal itself 
not much the worse : away with 't ! 

Hel. How might one do, sir, to lose it to 
her own liking ? 

Par. Let me see : marry, ill, to like him 
that ne'er it likes. 'Tis a commodity will 
lose the gloss with lying ; tlie longer kept, the 
Jess worth : off with 't while 'tis vendible ; 
answer the time of request. Virginity, like an 
old courtier, wears her cap out of fashion : 
tichly suited, but iusuitable: just like the 



brooch and the tooth-pick, which wear not 
now. Y'our date is better in your pie and 
your porridge than in your cheek ; and youi 
virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our 
French withered pears, it looks ill, it eats drily; 
marry, 'tis a withered pear ; it was formerly 
better ; marry, yet 'tis a withered pear : wiU 
you anything witli it ? 

Hel. t Xot my virginity yet. ... / 

Tliere shall your master have a thousand loves. 
A mother aud a mistress and a friend, 181 
A phoeuix, captain aud an enemy, 
A guide a goddess, and a sovereign, 
A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear ; 
His humble ambition, proud humility. 
His jarring concord, and liis discord dulcet, 
His faith, his sweet disaster ; with a world 
Of pretty, fond, adoptions Christendoms, 
That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he— 
I know not what he shall. God send him well I 
The court's a learning place, and he is one- 
Par. What one, i' faith ? 
Hel. That 1 wish well. 'Tis pitj-— 
Par. What's pity ? 

Hel. That wishing well had not a body in't, 
Which might be felt ; that we, the poorer born, 
Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes, 
Might with effects of them follow our friends, 
And show what we alone must think, which 

never 
Return us thanks. 200 

Enter Page. 

Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for 
' you. Exit. 

Par. Little Helen, farewell ; if I can re« 
member thee, I will think of thee at court. 

Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were bom 
under a charitable star. 

Par. Under Mars, I. 

Hel. 1 especially thuik, under Mars. 

Par. Why under Mars ? 

Hel, The wars have so kept you under that 
you must needs be born under Mars. 210 

Par. Wlien he was predominant. 

Hel. When he was retrograde, I think, 
rather. 

Par. Why think you so ? [fight. 

Hel. You go so much backward when you 

Par. That's for advantage. 

Hel. So is running away, when fear pro- 
poses the safety ; but the composition that 
your valor and fear makes in you is a virtue 
of a good wing, and I like the wear well. 219 

Par. I am so full of businesses, I cannot 
answer thee acutely. I will return perfect 
courtier ; in the which, my instruction shall 
serve to naturalize tliee, so thou wilt be capa- 
ble of a courtier's counsel and understand what 
advice shall tlirust upon thee ; else thou diest 
in thine nuthankfolnesg, and thine ignorance 
makes thee away : larewell. When thou hast 
leisure, gay thy prayers ; when thou hast 
none, remember thy friends ; get thee a good 
husband, and ubo him «a h« uses thee ; eo. 
fazewell. [Jfo(t.290 



Scene hi. 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



689 



Ilel. Our remedies oft iu ourselves do lie, 
■Which we ascribe to heaven : tlie fated sky 
Gives us free scope, only doth backward pull 
Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull. 
What power is it which mounts my love so 

high, 
That makes me see, and cannot feed mine 

eye ? 
tThe mightiest space iu fortune nature brings 
To join like likes and kiss like native things. 
Impossible be strange attempts to those 
That weigh their pains in sense and do sup- 
pose 240 
1 What hath been cannot be : who ever strove 
So show her merit, tliat did miss her love ? 
The king's disease — my project may deceive 

me, 
Ikit my intents are fix'dand will not leave me. 

\_ExiL 

Scene II. Paris. Tlie King's palace. 
Flourish of cornets. Enter the King of 
France, ivith letters, and divers Attendants. 

Kin(j. The Florentines and Senoys are by 
the ears ; 
Have fought with equal fortune and continue 
A braving war. 

First Lord. So 'tis reported, sir. 

Kinrj. Nay, 'tis most credible ; we here re- 
ceive it 
A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria, 
AVith caution that the Florentine will move us 
For speedy aid ; wherein our dearest friend 
Prejudicates the business and would seem 
To have us make denial. 

First Lord. His love and wisdom. 

Approved so to your majesty, may plead 10 
For amplest credence. 

King. He hath arm'd our answer. 

And Florence is denied before he comes : 
Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see 
The Tuscan service, freely have they leave 
To stand on either part. 

.S'ec". Lord. It well may serve 

A nursery to our gentry, wlio are sick 
For breathing and exploit. 

King. What's he comes here ? 

Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles. 

First Lord. It is the Count Rousillon, my 
good lord, 
Young Bertram. 

Kin;/. Youth, tliou bear'st thy father's 
face ; 
Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, 20 
Hath well composed thee. Thy father's moral 

parts 
Mayst thou inherit too ! Welcome to Paris. 

Ber. My thanks and duty are your maj- 
esty's. 

Ainf/. i would I had that corporal soundness 
now, 
As when thy father and myself in friendship 
First tried our soldiership ! He did look far 
Into the service of the time and was 
Discipled of the bravest : he lasted long ; 



But on us both did haggish age steal on 
And wore us out of act. It much repairs me 
To talk of your good father. In his youth 31 
He had the wit which I can well observe 
To-day in our young lords ; but tliey may jest 
Till their own scorn return to them unnoted 
Ere they can hide their levity in honor ; 
tSo like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness 
Were in bis pride or sharpness ; if they were, 
His equal had awaked them, and his honor. 
Clock to itself, knew the true minute when 
Exception bid him speak, and at this time 40 
His tongue obey'd his hand : Avho were below 

him 
He used as creatures of another place 
And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks, 
Making them proud of his humility, 
flu their poor praise he humbled. Such a 

man 
Might be a copy to these younger times ; 
Wiiich, follow'd well, would demonstrate them 

now 
But goers backward. 

Ber. His good remenbrance, sir, 

Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb; 
So in approof lives not his epitaph 50 

As in your royal speech. 

King. Would 1 were with him ! He would 
always say — 
Methinks I hear him now ; his plansive words 
He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them. 
To grow there and to bear, — ' Let me not 

live,' — 
This his good melancholy oft began. 
On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, 
When it was out, — ' Let me not live,' quoth he, 
' After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff 59 
Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses 
All but new things di.sdain ; whose judg- 
ments are [stancies 
Mere fathers of their garments ; whose con- 
Expire before their fashions. This he wish'd; 
I alter him do after him wish too. 
Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home, 
I quickly were dissolved from my hive, 
To give some laborers room. 

Sec. Lord. You are loved, sir : 

They that least lend it you shall lack you first 

King. I fill a jilace, I know' t. How long is't, 
count. 
Since the physician at your father's died ? 70 
He was much famed. 

Ber. Some six months since, my lord. 

King. If he were living, I would try him 
yet. 
Lend me an arm ; the rest have worn me out 
With several applications ; nature and sickness 
Debate it at cheir leisure. Welcome, coimt ; 
Jly son's uo dearer. 

Ber, Thank your majesty. 

^Exeunt. Flourish. 

Scene HI. Rousillon. The Count's palace. 
Enter Countess, Steward, arid Clown. 
Count. I will now hear ; what say you at 
this gentlewoman ? 

44 



660 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



[Act I. 



Stew. Madam, the care I have had to eveu 
your content, I wish might be found in the 
calendar of my past endeavors ; for then we 
wound our modesty and make foul the clear- 
ness of our deservings, when of ourselves we 
publish tliem. 

Count. What does this knave here ? Get 
you gone, sirrah : the complaints I have heard 
of you I do not all believe : 'tis my slowness that 
I do not ; for I know you lack not follj^ to com- 
mit them, and have ability enough to make 
such knaveries yours. 

Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, I 
am a poor fellow. 
Count. Well, sir. 

Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well that I am 
poor, though many of the rich are danmed : 
but, if I may have your ladyship's good will 
to go to tlie world, Isbel the woman and I will 
do as we may. 21 

Count Wilt thou needs be a beggar ? 
Clo. I do beg your good will in this case. 
Count. In what case ? 
Clo. In Isbel' s case and mine own. Service 
is no heritage : and I think I shall never have 
the blessing of God till I have issue o' my body ; 
for they say barnes are blessings. [marry. 
Count. Tell me thy reason why thou wilt 
Clo. My poor body, madam, requires it : I 
am driven on by the flesh ; and he must needs 
go that the devil drives. 

Count. Is this all your worship's reason? 
Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy rea- 
sons, such as tliey are. 

Count. May the world know them ? 
Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked crea- 
ture, as you and all flesh and blood are ; and, 
indeed, I do marry tljat I may repent. 

Count. Thy marriage, sooner than thy 

wickedness. 41 

Clo. I am out o' friends, madam : and I 

hope to Iiave friends for my wife's sake. 

Count. Such friends are thine enemies, 

knave. 
Clo. You're shallow, madam, in great friends ; 
for the knaves come to do that for me which I 
am aweary of. He that ears my land spares 
my team and gives me leave to in the crop ; if 
I be his cuckold, he's my drudge : he that com- 
forts my wife is the cherisher of ray flesh and 
blood ; he that cherishes my flesh and blood 
loves ray flesh and blood ; he that loves my 
flesh and blood is my friend : ergo, he that 
kisses my wife is my friend. If nien could be 
contented to be what they are, there were no 
fear in marriage ; for young Charbon the 
Puritan and old Poysara the Papist, how- 
sorae'er their hearts are severed in religion, 
their heads are botli one ; thev raay joul horns 
together, like any deer i' the "herd. 

Count. Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouthed 
and calumnious knave ? 61 

Clo. A prophet I, madam ; and I speak the 
troth the next way : 

For I the ballad will repeat. 
Which meu full true shall find j 



Your marriage coraes by destiny, 
Your cuckoo sings by kind. 
Count. Get you gone, sir ; I'll talk \ntb 
you more anon. 

Steio. May it please you, madam, that he 
bid Helen come to you : of her I am to speak. 
Count. Sirrah, tell ray gentlewoman I would 
speak with her ; Helen, I mean. 
Clo. Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, 
Why the Grecians sacked 'Troy ? 
Fond done, done fond. 

Was tills King Priam's joy ? 
With that she sighed as she stood. 
With that she sighed as she stood, 

And gave this sentence then ; 80 

Among nine bad if one be good. 
Among nine bad if one be good, 
There's yet one good in ten. 

Count. What, one good I'll ten ? you corrupt 
the song, sirrah. 

Clo. One good woman in ten, madam ; 
which is a purifying o' the song : would God 
would serve the world so all the j^ear ! we'ld 
find no fault with the tithe-woman, if I were 
the parson. One in ten, quoth a' ' An we 
might have a good woman born but one every 
blazing star, or at an earthquake, 'twould mend 
the lottery well : a man may draw his heart 
out, ere a' ])luck one. 

Count. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as 
I command you. 

Clo. That raan should be at woman's com- 
mand, and yet no hurt done ! Though honesty 
be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt ; it will 
wear the surplice of humility over the black 
gown of a big heart. I am going, forsooth : 
the business is for Helen to come hither. {Exit. 

Count. Well, now. 

Steiv. I know, madam, you love your gentle- 
woman entirely. 

Count. Faith, I do : her father bequeathed 
her to me ; and she herself, without other ad- 
vantage, may lawfully make title to as much 
love as she finds : there is more owing her tiian 
is paid ; and more shall be paid her than she'll 
demand. 

Stew. Madam, I was very late more near 
her than I think she wished me : alone she 
was, and did communicate to lierself her own 
words to her own ears ; she thought, I dare 
vow for her, they touched not any stranger 
sense. Her matter was, she loved your son : 
Fortune, she said, was no goddess, that had 
put such difference betwixt their two estates ; 
Love no god, that would not extend his might, 
only where qualities were level ; Dian no queen 
of virgins, that would suffer her jjoor knight 
surprised, without rescue in the first assault or 
ransom afterward. This she delivered in the 
most bitter touch of sorrow that e'er I heard 
vii'gin exclaim in : which I held ray duty speed- 
ily to acquaint you withal ; sithence, in the 
loss that may happen, it concerns yoii some- 
thing to know it. 
Count. You have discharged this honestlyj 



A 



Scene hi.] 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



691 



keep it to yourself : many likelihoods informed 
me of this before, which huug so tottering iu 
tlie balance that I could neither believe nor 
misdoubt. Pray you, leave me : stall this iu 
your bosom ; and I thank you for your honest 
care : I will speak with you further anon. 

\_Exit Steward. 

Enter Helexa. 

Even so it was with me when I was yomig : 

If ever we are nature's, these are ours ; this 
thorn 
Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong ; 

Our blood to us, this to our blood is born ; 
It is the show and seal of nature's truth, 
Where love's strong passion is. impress'd in 

youth : 
By our remembrances of days foregone, 140 
tSuch were our faults, or then we thought 

them none. 
Her eye is sick on't : I observe her now. 

Hel. What is your pleasure, madam ? 

Count. You know, Helen, 

I am a mother to you. 

Hel, Mine honorable mistress. 

Count. Nay, a mother : 

Why not a mother ? When I said ' ». mother,' 
Methought you saw a serpent : what's in 

' mother,' 
That you stait at it ? I say, I am your mother ; 
And put you in the catalogue of those 
That were enwombed mine: 'tis often seen 150 
Adoption strives with nature and choice breeds 
A native slip to us from foreign seeds : 
You ne'er oppress' d me with a mother's groan. 
Yet I express to you a mother's care : 
God's mercy, maiden ! does it curd thy blood 
To say I am thy mother ? What's the matter, 
That this distemper'd messenger of wet, 
Tlie many-color'd Iris, rounds thine eye ? 
Whv ? that you are my daughter ^ 

Hel. That I am not. 

Count. I say, I am your mother. 

Hel. Pardon, madam ; 160 

The Count Rousillon cannot be my brother : 
I am from humble, he from lionor'd name ; 
No note upon my jjarents. his all noble : 
My master, my dear lord he is ; and I 
His servant live, and will his vassal die : 
He must not be my brother. 

Count. ^ Nor I your mother ? 

Hel. You are my mothei', madam ; would 

you were, — [tlier, — 

So tliat my lord your son were not my bro- 

ludeed my mother ! or were you both our 

mothers, 
I care no more for than I do for heaven, 170 
So I were not his sister. Can't no other. 
But, I your daughter, he must be my brother? 

Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my 
daugliter-in-law : 
God shield you mean it not ! daughter and 

mother 
So strive ujion your pulse. What, pale again? 
My fear hath catch'd your fondness : now I 



The mystery of your loneliness, and find 
Your salt tears' head : now to all sense 'tis 

gross 
You love my son ; invention is ashamed. 
Against the proclamation of thy passion, ISC 
To say thou dost not : therefore tell me true ; 
But tell me then, 'tis so; for, look, thy cheeks 
Confess it, th' one to th' other; and thine eyes 
See it so grossly shown in thy behaviors 
That in their kind they speak it : only sin 
And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue. 
That truth should be susjiected. Speak, is't 

so? 
If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew ; 
If it be not, forswear't : howe'er, I charge 

thee. 
As heaven shall work in me for thine avail. 
Tell me truly. 191 

Hel. Good madam, pardon me ! 

Count. Do you love my son ? 
Hel. Your pardon, noble mistress ! 

Count. Love you my son ? 
Hel. Do not you love him, madam ? 

Count. Go not about ; my love hath in't a 

a bond. 
Whereof the world takes note : come, come, 

disclose 
The st;ite of your affection ; for your passions 
Have to the full appeach'd. 

Hel. Then, I confess. 

Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, 
Tliat before you, and next unto high heaven, 
I love your i-on. 200 

My friends were poor, but honest ; so's my 

love : 
Be not offended ; for it hurts not mm 
That he is loved of me : I follow him not 
By any token of presumptuous suit ; 
Nor would I have him till I do deserve him ; 
Yet never know how that desert should be. 
I know I love in vain, stri\ e against hope 
Yet in tliis captious and intenible sieve 
I still pour in the waters of my love 
And lack not to lose still : thus, Indian-like, 
Religious in mine error, I adore 211 

The sun, that looks upou his worshipper, 
But knows of him no more. My dearest 

madam, 
Let not your hate encounter with my love 
For loving where you do : but if yourself, 
Whose aged liouor cites a virtuous youth. 
Did ever in so true a llanie of liking 
Wisli cliastely and love dearly, that your Dian 
Was both herself and love : 6, then, give pity 
To her, whose stiite is such that cannot choose 
But lend and give where she is sure to lose ; 
That seeks not to find that her search implies. 
But riddle-like live* sweetly where she ;lies ! 
Count. Had you not lately an intent,- speak 

trulv, — 
To go to Paris ? 
Hel. Madam, I had. 

Count. Wherefore ? tell true. 

Hel. I will tell truth ; by grace itself [ swear. 
You know my father left me some prescrip- 
tions 



d92 



ALUS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



(Act It 



Of r.ire .ind proved effects, such as his reading 
Aud inauife.st experience had collected 
For general sovereij^nty ; aud that he will'd me 
lu lieedfuU'st reseivatiou to bestow them, 231 
As notes whose faculties iuclusi\''e were 
More tluiii they were in note : amongst the 

rest, 
Tliere is a remedy, approved, set down, 
To cure the desi)erate languishings wliereof 
The liiug is reuder'd lost. 

Count. This was your motive 

For Paris, was it? speak. 

Ilel. Aly lord your son made me to tliink of 
this ; 
Else Paris and tlie medicine and the king 
Had from tlie conversation of my thoughts 
Haply been absent tlien. 241 

Count. But think yon, Helen, 

If you should tender your supposed aid, 
He would receive it ? he and his physicians 
Are of a mind ; lie, that they cannot help him, 
Tliey, tliat they cannot help : how shall they 

credit 
A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, 
Embovvell'd of their doctrine, liave left off 
Tlie danger to itself ? 

Hel. There's something in't, 

More than my father's skill, which was the 

greatest 
Of his profession, that his good receipt 250 
Shall for my legacy be sanctified 
By the luckiest stars in heaven : and, would 

your honor 
But give me leave to try success, I'ld venture 
The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure 
By such a day and hour. 

Count. Dost thou believe't ? 

Hd. Ay, madam, knowingly. 

Count. \Vhy, Helen, thou shalt have my 
leave and love, 
INIeans and attendants and my loving greetings 
To tliose of mine in court : I'll stay at home 
And pray God's blessing intotliy attempt : 260 
Be gone to-morrow , aud be sure of this. 
What I can help thee to thou shalt not miss. 

lExeunt. 



ACT n. 



Scene I, Paris. The King's palace. 

Flourish of cornets. Enter the King, attended 
wilh dirersyov)if/ Lords takuKj leave for the 
Florentine war ; Bertram, and Parolles. 

King. Farewell, young lords ; tliese war- 
like principles 

Do not tluow froui you : and you, my lords, 
farewell : 

Share the advice betwixt you ; if both gain, 
all 

The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis received, 

\nd is enough lor both. 
Fir.'it Lord. 'Tis our hope, sir, 

After well euter'd soldiers, to return 

And find your grace in health. 



King. No, no, it cannot be ; and yet my 
heart 
Will not confess he owes the malady 
That doth ray life besiege. Farewell, young 
lords ; 10 

Whether I live or die, be you the sons 
Of worthy Frenchmen : let higher Italy, — 
IThose bated that inherit but the fall 
Of the last monarchy, — see that you come 
Not to woo honor, but to wed it ; when 
The bravest questant shrinks, find what you 

seek, 
That fame may cry you loud : I say, farewell. 
Sec. Lord. Health, at your biddiug, serve 

your majesty ! 
King. Those girls of Italy, take heed of 
them : 
They say, our French lack language to deny, 
If tliey demand : beware of being cai^tives, 21 
Before you serve. 
Both. Our hearts receive your warnings. 
King. Farewell. Come hither to me. 

{Exit, attended. 
First Lord. my sweet lord, that you will 

stay behind us ! 
Par. 'Tis not his fault, the spark. 
Sec. Lord. 0, 'tis brave wars ! 

Par. Most admirable : 1 have seen those 
wars. [with 

Ber. I am commanded here, and kejit a coil 
' Too young ' and ' tlie next year ' aud ' 'tis too 
early. ' 
Par. An thy mind stand to't, boj', steal 

away bravely. 
Ber. 1 shall stay here the forehorse to a 
smock, 30 

Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, 
Till honor be bought up and no sword worn 
But one to dance witli ! By heaven, I'll steal 
away. 
First L>rd. There's honor in the theft, 
Par. Commit it, count. 

Sec. Lord. 1 am your accessary ; and fo, 

farewell. 
Ber. I grow to you, and our parting is a tor- 
tured body. 
First Lord. Farewell, captain. 
,S'ec. Lord. Sweet Monsieur Parolles ! 
Par. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are 
kin. Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good 
metals : you shall find in the regiment of the 
S]iinii one Captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, 
an emblem of war, here on his sinister cheek ; 
it was this very sword entrenched it : say to 
him, I live ; and observe his reports for me. 
First Lord. We shall, noble captain. 

[Exevnt Lords. 
Par. Mars dote on you for his novices ' 
what will ye do ? 
Ber. Stay : the king. 50 

Re-enter King. Bertram and Parollbs 
retire. 

Par. [To Ber.'] Use a more spaciouj* csrft- 
mony to the noble lords ; you have restramed 
yourself within the list of too cold an adieu ; 



Scene i.] 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS' WELL. 



693 



be more expressive to them : for they wear 
themselves in the cap of tlie time, there do 
muster true gait, eat, speak, and move under 
the inrtueuce of tlie most received star ; and 
though the devil lead the measure, such are to 
be follov/ed . after them, and tiike a more 
dilated farewell 

Bi'V. And I will do so. 60 

Par. Worthy fellows ; and like to prove 
most sinewy sword-men. 

[Exetuit Bertram and Parolles. 

Elder Lafeu. 

Lfif, [Kneelm;/] Pardon, my lord, for me 

and for my tidings. 
Kin;/. I'll fee thee to stand up. 
/,((/'. Then here's a man stands, that has 
brought his jjardun. 
I would you liad kneel'd, my lord, to ask me 

mercy, 
And that at my bidding you could so stand up. 
Kini/. I would 1 had ; so I had broke thy 
l)ate, 
And ask'd thee mercy for't. 
Iai/. Good faith, across : but, my good lord 
'tis thus ; 70 

Will you be cured of your infirmity ? 
King. No. 

La/. O, will yon eat no grapes, my royal 
fox? 
Yes, but you will my noble grapes, an if 
My royal fox could reach them : 1 have seen a 

medicine 
That's able to breathe life into a stone. 
Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary 
With spritely fire and motion ; whose simple 

touch, 
Is powerful to araise King Pepin, nay. 
To give great Charlemain a pea iu's hand. 80 
And write to her a love-line 
Kin,;,. What ' her ' is this ? 

Laf. Why, Doctor She : riy lord, there's one 
arrivea 
If you will see her : now, by my faith and 

honor, 
If seriously I may convey mj' thoughts 
In this my light deliverance, I have sjioke 
With one" that, in her sex, her years, profes- 
sion, 
Wisdom and constancy, hath amazed me more 
Than 1 dare blame my weakness : will you see 

her, 
For that is her demand, and know herbusiness? 
That done, laugh well at me. 

Kin;/. Now, good Lafeu, 90 

Bring in the admiration ; that we with tliee 
May spend our wonder too, or take off thine 
Bv wondering how thou took'st it. 

La/. Nay, Pll fit vou. 

And not be all day neither. [Exit. 

King. Thus he his special nothing ever pro- 
logues. 

Re-enter Lafkp, loilh Hf.lkna 
Lof. Nfty, come your ways. 

JfiiiUt Tiifg hapte \mX\\ wiHgs iiideedv 



La/. Nay, come your ways : 
This is his majesty ; say your mind to hirn : 
A traitor you do look like ; but such traitors 
His majesty seldom fears : I am Cressid's un- 
cle, 100 
That dare leave two together ; fare ycu well. 

[Exit. 

King. Now, fair one, does your business 
follow us ? 

Ilel. Ay, my good lord. 
Gerard de Narbon was my father ; 
In what he did profess, w ell found. 

King. I knew him. 

Hel. The rather will I spare my praises 
towards him : 
Knowing him is enough. On's bed of death 
Many receipts he gave me : chiefly one, 
Which, as the dearest issue of his ])ractice, 
And of his old experience the only darling, 110 
He bade me store up, as a triple eye. 
Safer than mine own t« o, more dear ; 1 have so; 
And hearing your high maje.sty is touch'd 
With tliat malignant cause wherein the honor 
Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power, 
I come to tender it and my appliance 
With all bound humbleness. 

King. We thank you, maiden ; 

But may not be so credulous of cure. 
When our most learned doctors leave us and 
The congregated college have concluded 120 
That laboring art can never ransom nature 
From her inaidible estate ; I say we must not 
So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope, 
To prostitute our past-cure malady 
To empirics, or to dissever so 
Our great self and our credit, to esteem 
A senseless help when help past sense ws deem. 

Ilel. My duty then shall pay me for my 
pains : 
I will no more enforce mine office on you ; 
Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts 
A modest one, to bear me back again. 131 

King. I cannot give thee less, to be call'd 
grateful : 
Thou thouglit'st to help me ; and such thanks 

1 give 
As one near death to those that wish him live: 
But what at full I know, thou know'st no part, 
I knowing all my jieril, thou no art. 

Hel. What 1 can do can do no hurt to try, 
Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy. 
He that of greatest works is finisher 
Oft does them by the weakest minister • 140 
So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown, 
When judges have been babes ; great floods 

have flown 
From simple sources, and great seas liave 

dried 
When miracles have by the greatest been denied. 
Oft expectation fails and most oft thera 
Where most it iiromises, and oft it hits 
Where lioi>e is coldest and despair most fits. 

King. I must not hear thee ; fare thee well, 
kind maid ; 
Thy pains not used must by thyself be paid : 
Proffers not took j-<?iip th,aiiks for tU§Jr rewardi 



694 



ALL'Fi wWil TS^T ENDS WELL. 



[Act If. 



Hel. Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd : 
It is not so witli Him that all things knows 
As 'tis with us that square oar guess by shows; 
But most it is presumption in us when 
The help of heaven we count the act of men. 
Dear sir, to my endeavors give consent ; 
Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. 
2 am not an impostor that proclaim 
Myself against the level of mine aim ; 
But know I think and think I know most sure 
My art is not past power nor you past cure. 

King. Art thou so confident ? within what 
space 
Ho[)est thou my cure ? 

Hd. The great'st grace lending grace 

Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring 
Their fiery torclier his diurnal ring, 
' Ere twice in murk and occidental damp 
Moist Hesi)erus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp, 
Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass 
Hatli told the thievish minutes liow they pass, 
What is infirm from your sound ])arts shall fly, 
Health slniU live free and sii'kness freely die. 

King. Upon thy certainly and confidence 
What darest thou venture ? 

JIcl. Tax of impudence, 

A strumpet's boldness, a divulged shame 
Traduced by odious ballads: my maiden's 

name 
Sear'd otherwise ; nay, worse — if worse — ex- 
tended 
Witli vilest torture let my life be ended. 

King. Methinks in thee some blessed spirit 
dotli speak 
His powerful sound within an organ weak : 
And what impossibility would slay 180 

In common sense, sense saves another way. 
Tliy life is dear ; for all that life can rate 
Worth name of life in thee hath estimate, 
Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all 
That happiness and prime can hapi)y call : 
Thou this to hazard needs )nust intimate 
Skill infinite or mou.strous desperate. 
Sweet ]n'actiser, thy physic I will try, 
That ministers thine own death if I die. 

IM. If I break time, or flinch in property 
Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die. 
And well deserved : not helping, death's my 

fee ; 
But, if I help, what do you promise me ? 

King. Make thy demand 

IFel. But will you make it even ? 

King. Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of 
heaven. 

Hel. Then shalt thou give me with thy 
kingly hand 
What husband in thy power I will command : 
Exempted be from me the arrogance 
To choose from forth the royal blood of France, 
My low and humble name to propagate 200 
With any branch or image of thy state ; 
But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know 
Is free for me to ask, thee to bestovf. 

King. Here is my hand ; the premises ob- 
served, 
Tkj will by i»y perfoFmance ebaU ^e 8«rve4 ; 



So make the choice of thy own time, for I, 
Thy resolved patient, on thee still rely. 
More should I question thee, and more I must, 
Though more to know could not be more to 

trust, 
From whence thou camest, how tended on ; 

but rest 21« 

Unquestion'd welcome and undoubted blest. 
Give me some help here, ho ! If thou proceed 
As high as word, my deed shall match thy 

meed. [Flourish. Exeunt. 

Scene II. Bousillon. The Count's palace. 
Enter Countess and Clown. 

Count. Come on, sir ; I shall now jjut you 
to the height of your breeding. 

Clo. I will show myself highly fed and 
lowly taught : I know my business is but to 
the court. 

Count. To the court ! why, what place 
make you special, when you put off that with 
such contempt? But to the court ! 

Clo. Truly, madam, if God have lent a man 
any manners, he may easily put it off at court: 
he that cannot make a leg, put off's cap, Idss 
his hand and say nothing, has neither leg, 
hands, lip, nor cap ; and indeed such a fellow, 
to say precisely, were not for the court ; but 
for me, I have an answer will serve all men. 

Count. Marry, that's a bountiful answer 
that fits all questions. 

Col. It is like a barber's chair that fits all 
buttocks, the pin-buttock, the quatch-buttock, 
the brawn buttock, or any buttock. 

Count. Will your answer serve fit to all 
questions ? 21 

Clo. As fit as ten groats is for the hand of 
an attorney, as your French crown for your 
taffeta punk, as Tib's rush for Tom's fore- 
finger, as a pancake for Shrove Tuesday, a 
morris for May-day, as the nail to his hole, the 
cuckold to his horn, as a scolding queen to a 
wrangling knave, as the nun's lip to the friar's 
mouth, naj', as the pudding to his skin. 

Count. Have you, I saj', an answer of such 
fitness for all questions ? 31 

Clo. From below your duke to beneath 
your constable, it will fit :\\\y question. 

Count. It must be an answer of most raoU' 
strous size that must fit all demands. 

Clo. But a trifle neitln^r, in good faith, if 
the learned should speak truth of it : here it 
is, and ail that belongs to't. Ask me if I am 
a courtier : it shall do you no harm to learn. 

Count. To be young again, if we could : I 
will be a fool in question, hoping to be the 
wiser by your answer. I pray you, sir, are 
you a courtier ? 

Clo. O Lord, sir ! There's a simple putting 
off. More, more, a hundred of them. 

Count. Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, 
that loves you. [me. 

Clo. O Lord, sir ! Thick, thick, spare not 

Count. I think, sif, ygw can eat- RQHe Of 

this homely tti9»t. 



Scene hi.] 



ALL'S WELL TEAT ENDS WELL. 



695 



Clo. Lord, Sir ! Nay, put me to't, I war- 
rant you. 51 

Count. You were lately whipped, sir, as I 
thiuk. 

Clo. O Lord, sir ! spare not me. 

Count. Do you cry, ' O Lord, sir ! ' at your 
wliippiug, and' spare not me ? ' Indeed your 
' Lord, sir ! ' is very sequent to your whip- 
ping : you would answer very well to a wliip- 
ping, if you were but bound to't. 

Clo. i ne'er had worse luck in my life in 
my ' Lord, sir ! ' I see things may serve 
long, but not serve ever. 61 

Count. I play the noble housewife with the 
time. 
To entertain' t so merrily with a fool. 

Clo. O Lord, sir ! why, there't serves well 
again. 

Count. An end, sir ; to your business. 
Give Helen this. 
And urge her to a present answer back : 
Commend me to my kii^smeu and my sou : 
This is not much. 

Clo. Not uuich commendation to them. 70 

Count. Nut nuu'li employment for you : 
you understand me ? 

Ch. Most fruitfully : I am there before my 
leg«. 

Count. Haste you agam. [Exeunt severally. 

Scene III. Pcwis. The King's palace. 
Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles. 

Laf. They say miracles are past ; and we 
have our philosophical persons, to make n^.od- 
ern and familiar, tilings supernatural and 
causeless. Hence is it that we make trifles of 
terrors, ensconcing ourselves into seeming 
knowledge, when we should submit ourselves 
to an unknown tear. 

Par. Why , 'tis the rarest argument of won- 
der that hath shot out in our latter times. 

Ber. And so 'tis. 

Laf. To be reliuquish'd of the artists, — 10 

Par. So I say. 

L<if. Both of Galen and Paracelsus. 

Pur. So 1 say. 

Laf. Of all the learned and authentic fel- 
lows, — 

Par. Right ; so I say. 

Laf. That gave him out incurable, — 

Par. Why, there 'tis ; so say 1 too. 

Laf. Kot to be helped, — 

Par. Right ; as 'twere, a man assured of a — 

Laf Uncertain life, and sure death. 20 

Par. Just, you say well ; so would I have 
said. 

Laf. I may truly say, it is a novelty to the 
world. 

Par. It is, indeed : if you will have it in 
showing, you shall read it in— what do vou 
call there ? 

Laf. A showing of a heavenly effect in an 
eartlily actor. 

Par, That'g \\ : I would hftvp said the very 



Laf. Why,- your dolphin is not lustier s 
'fore me, I speak in respect — 

Par. Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, 
that is the brief and the tedious of it ; and 
he's of a most facinerious spirit that will not 
acknowledge it to be the — 

Laf. Very hand of heaven. 

Par. Ay, so I say. 

Laf. In a most weak — [paxi.sing] anddebile 
minister, great power, great transcendence : 
which should, indeed, give us a further use to 
be made than alone tlie recovery of the king, 
as to be — [pausing] generally thankful. 

Par. I would have said it ; you say weU. 
Here comes the king. 

Enter King, Helena, and Attendants. 

Lafeu i:nd Parolles retire. 
Laf. Lustig, as the Dutchman says: I'll 
like a maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in 
my head : why, he's able to lead hera coranto. 
Par. Mort du vinaigre ! is not this Helen ? 
Laf. Tore God, I think f*o. 51 

King. Go, call before me all the lords in 
court. 
Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side ; 
And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd 

sense 
Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive 
The confirmation of my promised gift, 
Which but attends thy naming. 

Enter three or four Lords. 

Fair maid, send forth thine eye : this youthful 

parcel 
Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing. 
O'er whom both sovereign power and father's 

voice 60 

I have to use : thy frank election make ; 
Thou hast power to choose, and they none to 

forsake. 
Hel. To each of you one fair and virtuous 

mistress 
Fall, when Love please ! marrj', to each, but 

one ! 
Laf. rid give bay Curtal and his furniture. 
My mouth no more were broken than those 

boys', 
And writ as little beard. 

King. Peruse them well : 

Not one of those but had a noble fatlier. 

Ilel. Gentlemen, 
Heaven hath through me restored the king to 

health.- 70 

All. We understand it, and tliank heaven 

for you. 
Hel. I am a simple maid, and therein weal- 
thiest. 
That I protest I simply am a maid. 
Please it your majesty, I have done already : 
The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me, 
' We Mush that thou shouldst choose ; but, be 

refused, 
Let the white death ait on thy cheek forever ; 
We'll ne'er coiuft fhpre again.' 

Sing' "' JJaHf Qbojc^ ;• wd, §^, 



69o 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



[Act II. 



Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me. 

Hd. Now, Dian, from thy altar do I tly, 80 
And to imperial Love, that god most high, 
Do my sighs stream. Sir, Avill you hear my 
suit ? 
First Lord. And grant it. 
Hel. Thanks, sir ; all the 

rest is mute. 
Laf. I had rather be in this Choice than 
throw ames-ace for my life. 

Hel. The honor, sir, that flames in your fair 
eyes. 
Before 1 speak, too threateningly replies : 
Love make your fortunes twenty times above 
Her that so wishes and her humble love ! 
Sec. Lord. No better, if you please. 
Hel. My wish receive, 90 

Which great Love grant ! and so, I take my 
leave. 
Laf. Do all they deny her ? An they were 
sons" of mine, I'd 'have them whipped ; or 1 
would send them to the Turk, to make eunuchs 
of. 
Hel. Be not afraid that I your hand should 
take ; 
I'll never do you wrong for your own salve ; 
Blessing upon your vows ! and in your bed 
Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed ! 

Laf. These boys are boys ol ice, they'll 
none" have her : sure, they are bastards to tlie 
English ; the French ne'er got 'cm. 101 

Hel. You are too young, too happy, and 
too good. 
To make yourself a son out of my blood. 
Fourth Lord. Fair one, I think not so. 
Laf. There's one grape yet ; I am sure thy 
father drunlv wine : but if tliou be'st not an 
ass, I am a youth of fourteen ; I have known 
thee already. 
Hel. [To JP.'rtram] I dare not say I take 
you ; but I give 
Me and my service, ever wliilst I live, 110 
Into your guiding power. This i.-s the man. 
Kin:/. Why, then, young Bertram, take her; 

she's tliy wife. 
Ber. My wife, my liege ! I shall beseech 
your liighness, 
In such a bushiess give me leave to use 
The help of mine own eyes. 

Klnfj. Know'.st thou not, Bertram, 

What she has done for me ? 

Bcr. Yes, my good lord ; 

But never hope to know why I should marry 
her. 
King. Thou know'st she has raised me 

from my sickly bed. 
Ber. But follows it, my lord, to bring me 
down 
Must answer for your r.aisiug ? I know her 
well : l-'O 

She had her breeding at my father's charge. 
Ai)oori)hysician's daughter my wife ! Disdain 
Rather corrupt me ever ! 

Kinrj. 'Tis only title thou disdaiu'st in her, 
the which 
I can build uji. Stra.uge is it that ovu" iJlootlSj . 



Of color, weight, and heat, pour'd all togetlier, 
Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off 
In differences so mightj\ If she be 
All that is virtuous, save what thou dislikest, 
A poor physician's daughter, thou dislikest 130 
Of virtue for the name : but do not so : 
From lowest place when virtuous things pro- 
ceed, 
Tl^ 3 place is dignified by the doer's deed : 
AVhere great additions swell's, and virtue none, 
It is a droiisied honor. Good alone 
Is good without a name. Vileness is so : 
The property by what it is should go. 
Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair ; 
In these to nature she's immediate heir. 
And these breed honor : that is honor's scorn, 
Wliich challenges itself as honor's born 141 
And is not like the sire : honors thiive, 
Wlien rather from our acts we them derive 
Than our foregoers : the mere word's a slave 
Dcbosh'd on every tomb, on every grave 
A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb 
Wliere dust and daran'd oblivion is the tomb 
Of honor'd bones indeed. What should be 

said ? 
If thou canst like this creature as a maid, 
I can create the rest : virtue and she 150 

Is her own dower ; honor and wealth from 
me. 
Bcr. I cannot love her, nor will strive to 

do't. 
Kin;/. Thou wrong'st thyself , if thou shouldst 

strive to choose. 
Hel. That you are well restored, my lord, 
I'm glad : 
Let the rest go. 

Kin.f/. Mj' honor's at the stake ; which to 
defeat, 
I must produce my power. Here, take her 

hand. 
Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift ; 
That dost in ^•ile misprision shackle up 
My love and her desert; that canst not dream. 
We, poising us in her detective scale, 161 

Shall weigh thee to the beam ; tliat wilt not 

know. 
It is in us to plant thine honor where 
We please to have it grow. Check thy con- 
tempt : 
Obey our will, which travails in thy good : 
Believe not thy disdain, but presently 
Do thine own fortunes that obedient right 
Which both thy duty owes and our power 

claims ; 
Or I will throw thee from my care for ever 
Into the staggers and the careless lapse 170 
Of youth and ignorance ; both my revenge 

and hate 
Loosing upon thee, in the name of justice, 
AVithont all terms of pity. Speak ; thine an- 
swer, [mit 
Her. Pardon, my gracious lord ; for I sub- 
My f.ancy to your eyes : when I consider 
What great creation and what dole of honor 
Flieg where you bid, jt, I finii tj]ia,% ghe, yfUvik 



Scene hi.] 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



697 



Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now 
The praised of the king ; who, so ennobled. 
Is as 'twere born so. 

Kinq. Take her by the hand, ISO 

And tell her she is tliiue : to whom 1 promise 
A coiinterpoi>ie, it not to thy estate 
A balance more rei)lete. 

Ijcr. I take her hand. 

Kiwj. Good fortune and the favor of the 
king 
Smile upon this contract ; whose ceremony 
Shall seem expedient on tlie now-born brief, 
And be perform'd to-niglit : the solemn feast 
Sliall more attend upon the coming space, 
Kxi)ectiiig absent friends. As thou lovest her. 
Thy love's to nie religious ; else, does err. 1!)0 
[Exvunt (ill hut Laff'iL and ParoUcs. 

Laf. [Adcancinfj'] Do you hear, monsieur ? 
a word with you. 

Pur. Your pleasure, sir ? 

Ldf. Your lord .and master did well to 
make his recantation. 

Par. Recantation ! My lord ! my master ! 

Laf. Ay; is it not a language I speak ? 

Pur. A most harsh one, and not to be un- 
derstood without bloody succeeding. Mv 
master ! 200 

Laf. Are you companion to the Count Rou- 
sillon ? 

Par. To any count, to all counts, to what 
is man. 

Laf. To what is count's man ; count's mas- 
ter is of another style. 

Par. You are too old, sir ; let it satisfj' 
you, you are too old. 

Laf. I must tell thee, sirrah, I Avrite man ; 
to which title age cannot bring thee. 

Par. What I dare too Avell do, I dare not 
do. 210 

Laf. I did think thee, for two ordinaries, 
to be a pretty wise fellow ; thou didst make 
tolerable vent of thy travel ; it might pass : 
yet the scarfs and the bannerets about thee did 
manifoldly dissuade me fronr believing thee 
a vessel of too great a burthen. I have now 
found tliee ; when I lose thee again, I c;ire 
not : yet art thou good for nothing but taking 
up ; and that thou't scarce worth. 

Par. Hadst thou not the privilege of anti- 
quity niion thee, — 221 

Laf. Do not iilunge thyself too far in anger, 
lest thou hasten tliy trial ; which if — Lord 
liave mercy on thee for a hen ! So, my good 
window of lattice, fare thee well : thy case- 
ment I need not open, for I look through thee. 
Give me thy hand. 

Par. ]My lord, you give me most egregious 
indignity. 

Laf. Ay, with all my heart ; and thou art 
worthy of it. " 231 

Par. I have not, my lord, deserved it. 

Laf. Yes, good faith, every dram of it ; and 
1 will not l>atc thee a scruple. 
Par. AVell, I shall be wiser. 
7,-^'/, Evo;i ;■! soon as thn:i canst, for thou 

Jiast V) pull i>t ft ,s!n?ic!\ o' the contrary. ]f 



ever thou be'st bound in thy scarf and beaten, 
thou shalt find what it is to be jiroud of thy 
bondage. I have a desire to hold my acquaint- 
ance with thee, or rather my knowledge, tlir.t 
I may say in the default, he is a man 1 know. 

Par. My lord, you do me most insupport- 
able vexation. 

Laf. I would it were hell-pains for tliy sake, 
and my poor doing eternal : for doing I am 
past : as I will by thee, in what motion aj,e 
will give me leave. [LjU. 

Par. Well, thou hast a son shall take this 
disgrace off me ; scurvy, old, filthy, .scurvy 
lord ! Well, I must be patient ; there is no 
fettering of authority. I'll beat him, by n;y 
life, if I can meet him Avith any convenicnc e, 
an he were double and double a lord. I'll 
liave no more pity of his age than I would 
of — I'll beat him, an if I could but meet him 
again. 

Rc-cntcr Lafeu. 

Laf. Sirrah, your lord and nmster's mar- 
ried ; there's news for you : you have a new 
mistress. 

Par. I most unfeignedly beseech your lord- 
ship to make some reservation of your 
wrongs : he is xny good lord : whom 1 sene 
above is my nnister. 

Laf Who ? God ? 

Par. Ay, sir. 

Laf. The devil it is that's thy master. Why 
do.st thou garter np thy arms o' this fashion ? 
dost make hose of thy sleeves ? do other ser- 
vants so ? Thou Avert best set thy lower part 
wliere thy nose stands. By mine honor, if I 
were but two hours younger, Fid beat thee : 
methinhs, thou art a general offence, and 
every man should beat thee : I think thou 
wast created for men to breathe themselves 
upon thee. 

Par. This is hard and undeserved measure, 
my lord. 

Laf. Go to, sir ; you were beaten in Italy 
for picking a kernel out of a pomegranate ; 
you are a vagabond and no true traveller : you 
are more saucy with lords and honorable \ cr- 
sonages th.nn the commission of your birth 
and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not 
worth another word, else I'ld call you knave. 
I leave you. [^Exit. -SI 

Par. Good, very good ; it is so then : good, 
very good ; let it be concealed awhile. 
Re-enter Bertram. 

Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for 
ever ! 

Par. What's the matter, sweet-heart ? 

Ber. Although before the solemn priest I 
have sworn, 
I will not bed her. 

Par. Wh.at, what, sweet-heart ? 

Ber. O my Parolles, they have married 
me ! 
I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her.290 

Per. F-.vincc is fi dog-hole, in*} Jt Jio inorQ 
iiicrits 



098 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



[Act II. 



The tread of a man's foot : to the wars ! 

Ber. There's letters from my mother : -what 
the imj)ort is, I kuow not yet. 
Par. Ay, tliat would be known. To the 

wars, my boy, to the wars ! 
He wears his honor in a box unseen. 
That hugs his kicky-wicky liereat home, 
Spending his manly marrow in her arms. 
Which should sustain the bound and high 

curvet 
Of Mars's fiery steed. To other regions 300 
France is a stable ; we that dwell in't jades ; 
Therefore, to the war ! 
Ber. It shall be so : I'll send her to m^' 

house, 
Acquaint my mother with ray hate to her, 
And wherefore I am fled ; write to the king 
That which I durst not speak ; his present 

gift 
Shall furnish me to those Italian fields. 
Where noble fellows strike : war is no strife 
To the dark house and the detested wife. 
Par. Will this capriccio hold in thee ? art 

sure ? 310 

Ber. Go with me to ray chamber, and ad- 
vise me. 
I'll send her straight away : to-morrow 
I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow. 
Par. Why, these balls bound ; there's noise 

in it. 'Tis hard : 
A young man married is a man that's marr'd : 
Therefore away, and leave her bravely ; go : 
The king has done you wrong : but, hush, 'tis 

so. [^Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Paris. The Ki-sc's palace. 
Enter Helena and Clown. 

Hel. My mother greets me kindly ; is she 
well? 

Clo. She is not well ; but yet she has her 
health : she's very merry ; but yet she is not 
well ; but thanks be given, sb.e's very well 
and wants nothing i' the world ; but yet she 
is not well. 

Hel. If she be very well, what does she ail, 
that she's not very well ? 

Clo. Truly, she's very well indeed, but for 
two things. 

Hd. What two things? 10 

Clo. One, that she's not in heaven, whither 
God send her quickly ! the other that she's in 
earth, from whence God send her quickly ! 
Enter Pakolles. 

Par. Bless you, my fortunate lady . 

Hel. I hope, sir, I have your good will to 
have mine own good fortunes. 

Par. You had my prayers to lead them on ; 
and to keep them on, have them still. O, my 
knave, how does my v.ld lady ? 

Clo. So that you haii her wrinkles and I her 
money, I would she did as vou sny. 21 

Pa-. Why, I say nothing. 

Clo. Marry, you are the wiser man ; for 
many a man's tongue shakes out his master's 
■Ui)4Qiiig : to say i^otbUig, to 4o uotitogj to 



know nothing, and to have nothing, is to be a 
gi'eat part of your title ; whijii is within a 
very little of nothing. 

Par. Away! thou'rt a knave. 

Clo. You .should liave said, sir, before a 
knave thou'rt a knave ; that's, befoie me 
thou'rt a knave : tliis had been truth, sir. 31 

Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool ; I have 
found thee. 

Clo. Did you find me in yourself, sir ? or 
were you taught to find me ? The search, sir, 
was i)rofitable ; and much fool may you tincl 
in you, even to the world's pleasure and the 
increase of laughter. 

Par. A good knave, i' faith, and \\ ell fed. 
Madam, my lord will go away to-niglit ; 40 
A very serious business calls on him. 
The great prerogative ai\d rite of love, 
Which, as your due, time claims, he does ac- 
knowledge ; 
But ]nits it off to a compell'd iiestraint ; 
AVhose want, and whose delay, is strew'd with 

sweets, 
Which they distil now in the curbed time, 
To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy 
And pleasure drown the brim. 

Hel. What's his will else ? 

Par. That you will take your instant leave 
o' the king. 
And make this haste as your own good pro- 
ceeding, 50 
Strengthen'd with what apology you think 
May make it probable need. 

Hel. What more commands he ? 

Par. That, having this obtain' d, you pres- 
ently 
Attend his further pleasure. 

Hel. In every thing I wait npon his will. 

Par, I shall report it so, 

Hel. I pray you. [Exit Pai'olles.] 

Come, sirrah. [Exeunt. 

Scene V. Paris. TJie King's palace. 
Enter Lafeu and Bertram. 

Laf. But I hope your lordship thinks not 
him a soldier. 

Ber. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant ap- 
proof. 

Laf. You liave it from his own deliver- 
ance. 

Ber. And by other warranted testimony. 

Laf. Then my dial goes not true : I took 
this iark for a bunting. 

B<r. I do assure you, my lord, he is very 
great in knowledge and accordingly valiant. 

Laf. I have then sinned against ills ex- 
perience and transgressed against his valor ; 
and my state that way is dangerous, since I 
cannot yet find in my heart to repent. Here 
he comes : I pray you, make us friends ; I 
will pursue the amitj'. 

Enter Parolles. 

Par. [To Bertnim] These things shall Ijf 
doBe, sir. 




Helena and the Clown, 



All's Well that Ends Well, p. 698 



Scene i.] 



ALUS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



630 



Ixif. Prav you, sir, who's his tailor ? 

Par. Sir?' 

Laf. O, I know him well, I, sir ; he, sir, 's a 
good workman, a very good tailor. 21 

Ber. [Aside to Par!] Is she gone to the king? 

Par. Slie is. 

Her, Will she away to-night ? 

Par. As you'll have her. 

Ber. I have writ my letters , casketed my 
treasure, 
Given order for our horses ; and to-night, 
When I should take possession of the bride, 
End ere I do begin. 29 

La/. A good traveller is something at the 
latter end of a dinner ; but one that lies three 
thirds and uses a known truth to i)ass a 
thousand nothings witli, should be once heard 
and thrice beaten. God save you, captain. 

Ber. Is there any unkiuduess between my 
lord and you, monsieur ? 

Par. I know not how I have deserved to 
rim into my lord's displeasure. 

Lof. Yoc have made shift to run into 't, 
boots and spurs and all, like him that leaped 
into tiie cu,«tard ; and out of it you'll run 
again, rather than suffer question for your 
residence. 

Ber. It may be you have mistaken him, my 
lord. 

Laf. And shall do so ever, though I took 
him at 's prayers. Fare you well, my lord ; 
and believe this of me, there can be no kernel 
in this light nut ; the soul of this man in his 
clothes. Trust him not in matter of heavy 
consequence ; I have kept of them tame, and 
know tlieir natures. Farewell, monsieur : I 
have sjioken better of you t than you have or 
will to deserve at my hand ; but we must do 
good against evil. \^Exit. 

Par. An idle lord, I swear. 

Ber. I think so. 

Par. Why, do you not know him ? 

Ber. Yes, I do know him well, and common 
speech 
Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my 
clog. 

Enter Helena. 

Hel. I have, sir, as I was commanded from 

you, 
Siwke with the king and have procured his 

leave (50 

For present parting ; only he desires 
Some private speech with you. 

Ber. I sliall obey his will. 

You must not marvel, Helen, at my course, 
Wliich holds not color with the time, nor does 
The ministration and required office 
On my particular. Prepared I was not 
For such a business ; therefore am I found 
Somuchjunsettled : this drives me to entreat 

you 
That presently you take your way for home ; 
And rather muse than ask whv I entreat you, 
For my respects are better thr.i; they seem 71 



Greater than shows itself at the first view 
To you that know them not. This to ray 
mother : [Givin;/ a letter. 

'Twill be two days ere I shall see you, so 
I leave you to your wisdom. 

Hel. Sir, I can nothing say, 

But that I am your mo.st obedient servant. 
Ber. Come, come, no more of that. 
Hel. And ever shall 

With true observance seek to eke out that 
Wherein toward me mv homely stars have 

fail'd 
To equal my great fortune. 

Ber. Let that go : 81 

My haste is very great : farewell ; hie home. 
Hel. Pray, sir, your pardon. 
Ber. Well, what would you say ? 

Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe. 
Nor dai-e I say 'tis mine, and yet it is ; 
But, like a timorous thief, most fain Avould 

steal 
What law does vouch mine own. 
Ber. What would you have ? 

Hel. Sometliiug ; and scarce so much : 
notliing, indeed. 
I would not tell you what I would, mj' lord : 
Faith, yes ; IK) 

Strangers and foes do sunder, and not kiss. 
Ber. I pray you, stay not, but in haste to 

horse. 
Hel. I shall not break your bidding, good 

my lord. 
Ber. Where are my other men, monsieur ? 
Fai-ewell. [Exit Helena. 

Go thou toward home ; where I will never 

come 
Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the 

drum. 
Away, and for our flight. 
Par. Bravely, coragio ! 

[Exeunt. 



ACT m. 



Scene I. Florence. The Duke's palace. 

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, 
attended; thetivo Frenchmen, with a troop 
of soldiers. 

Duke. So that from point to point now have 
you heard 
The fundamental reasons of this war. 
Whose great decision hath much blood let 

forth 
And more thirsts aft^:'. 

Fir.^t Lord. Holy seems the quarrel 

Upon your grace's part ; black and fearful 
On the opposer. 

Dicke. Therefore we marvel much our 
cousin France 
Would in so just a business shut his bosom 
Against our borrowing prayers. 

Sec. Lord. Good my lord, 

The reasons of our state I cannot yield. 10 

But like a comffign aji4 an outward mao, 



TOO 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



[Act III 



That the great figure of a coimeil frames 
By self-unable motion : therefore dare not 
Say what I think of it, since I have found 
Myself in my incertain grounds to fail 
As often as I guess' d. 

Jhike. Be it his pleasure. 

First Lord. But I am sure the younger of 
our nature, 
That surfeit on their ease, will day by day 
Come here for physic. 

Dnke. Welcome shall they be ; 

And all the honors that can fly from us 20 
Shall on them settle. You know your places 

well ; 
When better fall, for your avails they fell : 
To-morrow to the field. [Flourish. Exeunt. 

ScENK II. Roiisillon. T/ie Count's ^jaZace. 
Enter Countess and Clown. 

Count. It hath happened all as I would 
have had it, save that he comes not along with 
her. 

Clo. By my troth, I take my young lord to 
be a very melancholy man. 

Count. By what observance, I pray you ? 

Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot and 
sing ; mend the ruff and sing ; ask questions 
and sing ; pick his teeth and sing. I know a 
man that had this trick of melancholy sold a 
goodly manor for a song. 10 

Count. Let me see what he writes, and 
when he means to come. [Opening a letter. 

Clo. I have no mind to Isbel since I was at 
court : our old ling and our Isbels o' the coun- 
try are nothing like your old ling and your 
Isbels o' the court : the brains of my Cupid's 
knocked out, and I begin to love, as an old 
man loves money, with no stomach. 

Count. What have we here ? 

Clo. E'en that you have there. [Exit. 20 

Count. [Reads\ I have sent you a daughter- 
in-law : she hath recovered the king, and un- 
done me. I have wedded her, not bedded her ; 
and sworn to make the ' not ' eternal. You 
shall hear I am run away : know it before the 
report come. If there be breadth enough in 
the world, I will hold a long distance. My duty 
to you. Your unfortunate son, 

Bertkam. 
This is not well, rash and unbridled boy, 30 
To fly the favors of so good a king ; 
To pluck his indignation on thy head 
By the misprising of a maid too virtuous 
For the contempt of empire. 

Re-enter Clown. 

Clo. O madam, yonder is heavy news with- 
in between two soldiers and my young lady ! 

Count. What is the matter ? 

Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the 
news, some comfort ; your son will not be 
killed so soon as I thought he would. 40 

Count. Why should he be killed ? 

Clo. So say I, madam, if he run away, as I 

»e»r be aQ§§ ; the 4ftHg«r is in staa^iog to't j 



that's the loss of men, though it be the getting 
of children. Here they come will tell you 
more : for my part, I only hear your son was 
run away. [Exit. 

Enter Helena, and two Gentlemen. 

First Gent. Save you, good madam. 

Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever 

gone. 
Sec. Gent. Do not say so. 
Count. Think upon patience. Pray you, 
gentlemen, 50 

I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief, 
That the first face of neither, on the start. 
Can woman me uuto't : where is my son, I 
pray you ? 
Sec. Gent. Madam, he's gone to serve the 
duke of Florence : 
We met him thitherward ; for thence we came, 
And, after some dispatch in hand at court. 
Thither we bend again. 
Hel. Look on his letter, madam ; here's 
my i)assi)ort. 
[.Reocfo] When thou canst get the ring upou 
my finger wliich never shall come oft', and 
show me a child begotten of thy body that I 
am father to, then call me husband : but in 
such a ' then ' I write a ' never.' 
This is a dreadful sentence. 

Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen ? 
First Gent. ' Ay, madaiu ; 

And for the contents' sake are sorry for our 
pains. 
Count. I prithee, lady, have a better cheer ; 
If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, 
Thou robb'st me of a moiety : he was my son ; 
But I do wash his name out of my blood, 70 
And thou art all my child. Towards Florence 
is he ? 
Sec. Gent. Ay, madam. 
Count. And to be a soldier ? 

Sec. Gent. Such is his noble purpose ; and, 
believe 't, 
The duke will lay upon him all the honor 
That good convenience claims. 

Count. Return you thither ? 

First Gent. Ay, madam, with the swiftest 

wing of speed. 
Hel. [Readc] Till I have no wife I have no- 
thing in France. 
'Tis bitter. 

Count. Find you that there ? 
Hel. Ay, madam. 

Fi7'st Gent. 'Tis but the boldness of his 
hand, haply, which his heart was not consent- 
ing to. SO 
Count. Nothing in France, until he have 
no wife ! 
There's nothing here that is too good for him 
But only she ; and she deserves a lord 
That twenty such rude boys might tend upon 
And call her hourly mistress. Who was with 
him ? 
First Gent. A servant only, and a gentle- 
man 

Whlcli I have Hoflaetiroe )«it>w». 



Scene tv.] 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



701 



Cmint. Parolles, was it not ? 

First Gent. Ay, my good lady, he. 
Coinit. A very tainted fellow, and full of 
wickedness. 
My son corrupts a well-derived nature 90 

With Ills inducement. 

Fivat Gent. Indeed, good lady, 

The fellow has a deal of that too much, 
Which holds him much to have. 

Count. You're welcome, gentlemen. 
I will entreat you, when yon see my son. 
To tell him that his sword can never win 
The honor tliat he loses : more I'll entreat you 
W^ritteu to bear along. 

Sec. Gent. We serve you, madam. 

In that and all your worthiest affairs. 
Count. Not so, but as we change our cour- 
tesies. 100 
Will you draw near ! 

[Exeunt Countess and Gentlemen. 
Ilel. 'Till I have no wife, I have nothing 
in France.' 
Nothing in France, until he has no wife ! 
Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in 

France ; 
Then hast thou all again. Poor lord ! is't I 
Tliat chase thee from thy country and expose 
Those tender limbs of thine to the event 
Of the none-sparing war ? and is it I 
That drive thee from the sportive court, 

where thou 
Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark 
Of smoky muskets ? O you leaden messen- 
gers, 111 
That ride upon the violent speed of fire, 
tFly with false aim ; move the still-peering 
air, [lord. 
Tliat sings with piercing ; do not touch my 
Whoever shoots at him, I set him there ; 
Wlioever charges on his forward breast, 
I am the caitiff th.at do hold him to't ; 
And, though I kill him not, I am the cause 
His death was so effected : Letter 'twere 
I met the ravin lion when ht roar'd 120 
With sharp constraint of hunger ; better 

'twere 
That all the miseries which nature owes 
Were mine at once. No, come thou home, 

Rousillon, 
Whence honor but of danger wins a scar. 
As oft it loses all : I will be gone ; 
My being here it is that hold. :hee hence : 
Sliall I stay here to do't ? no, no, although 
Tlic air of paradise did fan the house 
And angels oflRced all : I will be gone, 
Tha'; pitiful rumor may report my tlight, 130 
To consolate thine ear. Come, night ; end, 

day ! 
For with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal away. 

[Exit. 

°"KHE III. Florence. Be/ore the Duke's 
palace. 

Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bee- 
tram, Pakolles, Soldiers, Drum, and 
Trumpeta. 



Duke. The general of our horse thou art ; 
and we. 
Great in our hope, lay pit test love au<l CTf 

dence 
xjpou thy promising fortune. 

Ber. Sir, it is 

A charge too lieavy for my strength, but yet 
We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake 
To the extreme edge of hazard. 

Duke. Then go thou forth ; 

And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm. 
As thy auspicious mistress ! 

Ber. This very day, 

Great Mars, I put myself into thy lile : 
Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall 
prove 10 

A lover of thy drum, hater of love. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. Rousillon. The CovyT's jmlace. 

Enter Countess and Steward. 

Count. Alas I and would you take the let- 
ter of her ? 
Might you not know she would do as she has 

done, 
By sending me a letter ? Read it again. 

Stew. [Reads] 
I am Saint Jaques' pilgrim, thither gone : 
Ambitious love hath so in me offended, 
That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon. 
With sainted vow my faults to have 
amended. 
Write, write, that from the bloody course of 
war 
My dearest master, your dear son, may 
hie : 
Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far 
His name with zealous fervor sanctify : 11 
His taken labors bid him me forgive ; 

I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth 
From courtly friends, with camping foes to 
live. 
Where death and danger dogs the heels of 
worth : 
He is too good and fair for death and me : 
Whom I myself embrace, to set him free. 
Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in hei 
mildest words ! 
Rinaldo, you did never lack advice so much, 
As letting !;er pass so : had I spoke with her, 
I could have well diverted her intents, 21 

Which thus she hath prevented. 

Steiv. Pardon me, madam : 

If I had given you this at over-night. 
She might have been o'eiui'en ; and jet she 

writes. 
Pursuit would be but vain. 

Count. What angel shall 

Bless this unworthy husband ? he cannot 

thrive, 
Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to 

hear 
And loves to grant, reprieve him from the 

wrath 
Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rinaldo, 
To this unworthy husband of bis wife ; 30 



702 



ALDS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



[Act ist 



Let e^ery word weigh lieavy of her worth 
That he does weigh too light : my greatest 

grief, 
Tliongli little lie do feel it, set down sharply. 
Dis[)atch the most convenient messenger : 
Wlien liaply he shall hear that she is gone, 
He will retnrn ; and hope 1 may that she. 
Hearing so much, will speed her foot again, 
Led liitlier by pure love : which of them both 
Is dearest to me, I have no skill in sense 
To make distinction : provide this messen- 
ger : 40 
My heart is heavy and mine age is weak ; 
Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me 
speak. [^Exexint. 

Scene V. Florence. Without the loalls. A 

tucket afar off. 
Enter an old Widow of Florence, Diana, Vio- 

LENTA, and Mariana, loiih other Citizens. 
Wid. Nay, come ; for if they do approach 
the city, we shall lose all the sight. 

Dia. They say the French count has done 
most lionorable service. 

Wid. It is reported that he has taken their 
greatest commander ; and that with his own 
hand he slew the duke's brother. [Tncket.'\ 
We have lost our labor ; they are gone a con- 
traiy way : hark ! you may know by tlieir 
trumpets. 9 

Mar. Come, let's return again, and suffice 
ourselves witli the report of it. Well, Diana, 
take lieed of this Frencli earl : the honor of a 
maid is her name ; and no legacy is so rich as 
honesty. 

Wid. I have told my neighbor how you 
have been solicited by a gentleman his com- 
panion. 

Mar. I know that knave ; hang him ! one 
Parolles : a filthy officer he is in those sug- 
ge.stions for the young earl. Beware of them, 
Diana ; their promises, enticements, oaths, 
tokens, and all these engines of lust, are not 
the things tliey go under : many a maid hath 
been seduced by them ; and the misery is, ex- 
ample, that so terrible shows in the wreck of 
maidenliood, cannot for all that dissuade suc- 
cession, but that they are limed with the 
twigs that threaten them. I hope I need not 
to advise you further ; but I hope your own 
grace will keep you where you are, though 
there were no further danger known but the 
modesty which is so lost. 30 

Dia. You shall not need to fear me. 

Wid. I hope so. 

Enter Helena, disguised like a Pilgrim. 

Look, here comes a pilgrim : I know she 
will lie at my house ; thither they send one 
another : I'll question her. God save you, 
pilgrim ! whither are you bound ? 

Hel. To Saint Jaques le Grand. 
Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech 
you ? 

Wid. At the Saint Francis here beside the 
15ort. 



Hel. Is this the way ? 40 

Wid. Ay, marry, is't. [^4 march afwi .\ 
Hark you ! tliej^ come this way. 
If you will tarry, holy pilgrim, 
But till tlie troops come bj', 
I will conduct you where you shall be lodged j 
The rather, for I tliink I know your hostess 
As ample as myself. 

Hel. Is it yourself ? 

Wid. If you shall please so, pilgrim. 

Hel. I thank you, and will stay upon your 
leisure. 

Wid. You came, I think, from France ? 

Hel. I did so. 

Wid. Here you shall see a countryman of 
yours 50 

That has done worthy service. 

Hel. His name, I pray you. 

Dia. The Count Rousillon : know you such 
a one ? 

Hel. But by the ear, that hears most nobly 
of him : 
His face I know not, 

Dia. Whatsome'er he is. 

He's bravely taken here. He stole from 

France, 
As 'tis reported, for the king had married hira 
Against his liking : think you it is so ? 

Hel. Ay, surely, mere the truth : I know 
his lady. 

Dia. There is a gentleman that serves the 
count 
Reports but coarsely of her. 

Hel. What's his name ? GO 

Dia. Monsieur Parolles. 

Hel. 0, I believe with him, 

In argument of praise, or to the worth 
Of the great count himself, she is too mean 
To have her name repeated : all her deserv- 
ing 
Is a reserved honesty, and that 
I have not heard examined. 

Dia. Alas, poor lady f 

'Tis a hard bondage to become the wife 
Of a detesting lord. 

Wid. I warrant, good creature, whereso- 
e'er she is. 
Her heart weighs sadly: this young maid 
might do her 70 

A shrewd turn, if slie pleased. 

Hel. How dd you mean ? 

May be the amorous count solicits her 
In the unlawful iJurpose. 

Wid. He does indeed ; 

And brokes with all that can in sucli a suit 
Corrupt the tender honor of a maid : 
But she is arm'd for him and keeps lier guard 
In honestest defence. 

Mar. The gods forbid else ! 

V/id. So, now they come : 

Drum and Colors. 
Enter Bertram, Parolles, and the wlwK 

army. 
That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son ; 
That, Escalus. 



Scene vi.] 



ALVS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



703 



Hd. Which is the Frenchman ? 

Dia. He ; 80 

Tluit with the plume : 'tis a most gallant fel- 
low, 
I \vould he loved his wife : if he were honest- 

er 
He were much goodlier : is't not a handsome 
gentleman ? 
lid. I like him well. 

Dia. 'Tis pity he is not honest : yond's 
that same knave 
That leads liim to these places : were I his 

lady, 
I would poison that vile rascal. 
Hel. Which is he ? 

Dia. That jack-an-apes with scarfs : why 
is he melancholy ? 
Hel. Perchance he's hurt i' the battle. 90 
Par. Lose our drum ! well. 
Mar. He's shrewdlj^ vexed at something : 
look, he has spied us. 
Wid. Marry, hang you ! 
Mar. And your courtesy, for a "ring-car- 
rier ! [E.reunt Bertram, Parolles, and army. 
Wid. The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I 
will bring you 
Where you shall host : of enjoiu'd penitents 
There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques 

bound. 
Already at my house. 

Hd. I humblj' thank you : 

Please it this matron and this gentle maid 100 
To eat with us to-night, the charge and thank- 
ing 
Shall be for me ; and, to requite you further, 
I will bestow some precepts of this virgin 
Worthy the note. 
Both. We'll take your offer kindly. 

{Exeunt. 

Scene VI. Gamp before Florence. 
Enter Bertram and the tioo French Lords. 

Sec. Lord. Nay, good my lord, put him to't ; 
let him have his way. 

Fir.tt Lord. If your lordship find him not a 
hilding, hold me no more in your respect. 

Sec. Lord. On my life, my lord, a bubble. 

Ber. Do vou think I am so far deceived in 
him ? 

Sec. Lord. Believe it, my lord, in mine own 
direct knowledge, without any malice, but tp 
speak of him as my kinsman, he's a most 
notable co\\«ard, an infinite and endless liar, 
nil hourly promise-breaker, the owner of no 
one good quality worthy your lordship's en- 
tertainment. 

First Lord. It were fit you knew him ; lest, 
reposing too far in his virtt-.e, whicli he hath 
not, he might at some great and trusty busi- 
ness in a main danger fail you. 

Ber. I would I kn-ew in what particular 
action to try him. 19 

Firtii Lord. None better than to let him 
fetch off his drum, which you hear him so 
confidently undertake to do. 



Sec. Lord. I, with a troop of Florentines, 
will suddenly surprise him ; such I will have, 
whom I am sure he knows not from the 
enemy : we will bind and hoodwink him so, 
that he shall suppose no other but that he is 
carried into the leaguer of the adversaries, 
when we bring him to our own tents. Be but 
your lordshij) present at his examination : if 
he do not, for the promise of his life and in 
the highest compulsion of base fear, offer to 
betray you and deliver all the intelligence in 
his power against you, and that with the di- 
vine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never trust 
my judgment in any thing. 

First Lord. 0, for the love of laughter, let 
him fetch his drum ; he says he has a strata- 
gem for't : when your lordship sees the bot- 
tom of his success in't, and to what metal this 
counterfeit lump of ore will be melted, if you 
give him not John Drum's entertainment, your 
inclining cannot be removed. Here he comes. 

Enter Parolles. 

Sec. Lord. [Aside to Ber.] O, for the love 
of laughter, hinder not the honor of his de- 
sign : let him fetch off his drum in any liand. 

Ber. How now, monsieur ! this drum sticks 
sorely in your disposition. 

First Lord. A pox on't, let it go ; 'tis but a 
drum. 49 

Par. 'But a drum'! is't 'but a drum'? A 
drum so lost ! There was excellent command, 
— to charge in with our horse upon our own 
wiugs, and to rend our own soldiers ! 

First Lord. That was not to be blamed in 
the command of the serviqe : it was a disaster 
of war that C:esar himself could not have pre- 
vented, if he had been there to coiiuiiand. 

Ber. Well, we caunot greatly condemn our 
success : some dishonor we had in the loss of 
that drum ; but it is not to be recovered. 60 

Par. It might have been recovered. 

Ber. It might ; but it is not now. 

Par. It is to be recovered : buu that the 
merit of service is seldom attributed to the 
true and exact performer, I would have that 
drum or another, or ' hie jacet.' 

Ber. Why, if you have a stomach, to't, 
monsieur : if you think your mystery in strat- 
agem can bring this instrument of lionor again 
into his native quarter, be magnanimous in 
the enterprise and go on ; I will grace the at- 
tempt for a worthy exploit : if you speed well 
in it, tlie duke .shall both speak of it, and ex- 
tend to you what further becomes his great- 
ness, even to the utmost syllable of your 
worthiness. [dertake it. 

Par. By the hand of a soldier, I will un- 

Ber. But you must not now slumber in it. 

Par. I'll about it this evening : and I will 
presently pen down my dilemmas, encourage 
myself in my certainty, pnl myself into my 
mortiil preparation ; and by midnight look to 
hear further from me. 

Ber. May I be bold to acquaint his grace 
i A ou axe goue about it ? 



704 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



[Act IV, 



Par. I know not what the success will be, 
my lord ; but tlie attempt I vow. 

Ber. I know thoa'rt valiant ; and, to the 
posfiibility of thy soldiership, will subscribe 
for thee. Farewell. 90 

Par. I love not many words. [Exit. 

Sec. Lord. No more than a fish loves water. 
Is not this a strange fellow, my lord, that so 
confidently seems to undertake this business, 
which he knows is not to be done ; damns 
himself to do and dares better be damned than 
to do't ? 

First Lord. You do not know him, my 
lord, as we do : certain it is that he will steal 
liimself into a man's favor and for a week 
escape a tjreat deal of discoveries , but when 
you find him out, yoii have him ever after. 101 

J3er. Why, do you think he will make no 
deed at all of tliis that so seriously he does ad- 
dress himself unto? 

See. Lord. None in the world ; but return 
with an invention and clap upon you two or 
three probable lies : but we have almost em- 
bossed him ; you shall see his fall to-night ; 
for indeed he is not for your lordship's re- 
spect. 109 

First Lord. We'll make you some sport 
■with the fox ere we case him. He was first 
smoked by the old lord Lafeu : when his dis- 
guise and he is parted, tell me what a sprat 
you shall find him ; which you shall see this 
very night. 

Sec. Lord.' I must go Icsok my twigs : he 
shall be caught. 

Ber. Your brother he shall go along with 
me. 

Sec. Lord. As't please your lordship : I'll 
leave you. XE.(it. 

Ber. Now will I lead you to the house, and 
show you 
The lass I spoke of. 

First Lord. But you say she's honest. 

B^r. That's all the fault : I spoke with her 

but once 1'20 

And found her wondrous cold ; but I sent to 

her. 
By this same coxcomb that we have i' the 

wind, 
Tol<ens and letters which she did re-send ; 
And thi{* is all I have done. She's a fair 

creature : 
Will you go see her ? 

First Lord. With all my heart, my lord. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VII. Florence. The Widow's house. 
Enter Helena and Widow. 

Hel. If you misdoubt me that I am not she, 
I know not how I shall assure you further, 
But I shall lose the grounds I woi'k upon. 

Wid. Though my estate be fallen, I was 
well born, 
Nothing acquainted with these businesses; 
And would not put my reputation now 
In any staining act. 



Ilel. Nor would I wish you. 

First, give me trust, the count lie is my hus- 
band. 
And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken 
Is so from word to word ; and then you can- 
not, 10 

By the good aid that I of yon shall borrow, 
Err in bestowing it. 

Wid. I should believe you : 

For you have show'd me that which well ap- 
proves 
You're great in fortune. 

Ilel. Take this purse of gold, 

And let me buy your friendly help thus far, 
Which I will over-pay and v>ay again 
Wlien I have found it. The count he wooes 

your daughter, 
Lays down his wanton siege before her 

beauty. 
Resolved to carry her : let her in fine consent, 
As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it. 20 
Now his important blood will nought deny 
That she'll demand ; a ring the county wears, 
That downward hath succeeded in his house 
From son to son, some four or five descents 
Since the first father wore it : this ring he 

holds 
In most rich choice ; yet in his idle fire, 
To buy his will, it would not seem too dear 
Hovve'er repented after. 

Wid. Now I see 

The bottom of your pur])ose. 

Hel. You see it lawful, then : it is no more. 
But that your daughter, ere she seems as 
won, 31 

Desires this ring ; appoints him an encounter; 
In fine, delivers me to fill the time, 
Herself most chastely absent : after this. 
To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns 
To wliat is passed already. 

Wid. " I have yielded : 

Instruct my daughter how she shall persever, 
Tliat time and place with this deceit so lawful 
May prove coherent. Every night he comes 
With musics of all sorts and songs composed 
To her unworthiness : it nothing steads us 41 
To chide him from our eaves ; for he persists 
As if his life lay on't. 

Hel. Why then to-night 

Let us assay our plot ; which, if it speed. 
Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed 
And lawful meaning in a lawful act, 
Where both not sin, and j^et a sinful fact : 
But let's about it. [Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 

Scene I. Without the Florentine camp. 

Enter Second French Lord, loith Jive or six 

other Soldiers in ambush. 

Sec. Lord. He can come no other way but 

by this hedge-corner. When you sally upon 

him, speak what terrible language you will : 

' Uiougli you understand it not yourselves, no 




Tv-'^A- 



-i-^e^^ 






"^ V/^l 




miiMiisEiiim.i 



p. 70s 



Scene ii.] 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



7(16 



matter ; for we must not seem to uuderstaud 
him, unless some one among us whom we 
must produfe for an interpreter. 

First Sold. Good captain, let me be the in- 
terpreter. 

Sec. Lord. Art not acquainted with him ? 
knows he not thy voice ? 11 

First Sold. Xo, sir, I warrant you. 

Sec. Lord. But what linsey-woolsey hast 
thou to speak to us again ? 

First Sold. E'en such as you speak to me. 

,S'«'. Lord. He must think us some band of 
strangers i' the adversary's entertainment. 
Now he hath a smack of all neighboiiug lan- 
guages ; therefore we must every one be a man 
of his own fancy, not to know what we speak 
one to another ; so we seem to know, is to 
know straight our purpose; choughs' language, 
gabble enough, and good enough. As for you, 
interpreter, you must seem very politic. But 
couch, ho ! here he comes, to beguile two 
hours in a sleep, and then to return and swear 
the lies he forges. 

Enter Pakolles. 

Par. Ten o'clock : within these three hours 
'twill be time enough to go home, ^yhat 
shall I say I have done? It must be a very 
plausive invention tliat carries it : they begin 
fn smoke me ; and disgraces have of late 
ftnocked too often at my door. I find my 
tongue is too foolhardy ; but my heait hath 
the fear of Mars before it and of his creatures, 
not daring the reports of my tongue. 

^'ec Lord. This is the first truth that e'er 
thine own tongue was guilty of. 

Par. What the devil should move me to 
•'udertake the recovery of this drum, being 
not ignorant of the impossibility, and know- 
ing I had no such purpose ? I must give my- 
self some hurts, and say I got them in exploit : 
yet slight ones will not carry it ; they will 
say, ' Came you off with so little ?' and great 
ones I dare not give. Wherefore, what's the 
instance ? Tongue, I must put you into a but- 
ter-woman's mouth and buy myself another 
of Bajazet's mule, if you prattle me into these 
perils. 

See.. Lord. Is it possible he should know 
what he is, and be that he is ? 49 

Par. I would the cutting of my garments 
would serve the turn, or the breaking of my 
Spanish sword. 

Sec. Lord. We cannot afford you so. 

Par. Or the l>aring of my beard ; and to say 
It was in stratagem. 

Sec. Lord. 'Twould not do. 

Par. Or to drown jny clothes, and say I 
was stripped. 

See. Lord. Hardly serve. 

Par. Though I swore I leaped from the 
iriudow of the citidel. 61 

Sec. Lord. How deep? 

Par. Thirty fathom. 

See. Loril. Three great oaths would scarce 
»n&ke that be believed. 



Par. I would I had any drum of the ene- 
my's : I would swear I recovered it. 

Sec. Lord. You shall hear oneanou. 

Par. A drum now of the enemy's, — 

[Alarum within. 

Sec. Lord. Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, 
cargo. 71 

All. Cargo, cargo, cargo, villiando par 
corbo, cargo. 

Pur. O, ransom, ransom ! do not hide 
mine eyes. [.They seize and blindfold kiin- 

First Sold. Boskos thromuldo boskos. 

Par. I know you are the Muskos' regiment : 
And I shall lose my life for want of language; 
If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch, 
Italian, or French, let him speak tome ; I'll 
Discover that which shall undo the Florentine. 

First Sold. Boskos vauvado : I understand 
thee, and can speak thy tongue. Kerelybonto, 
sir, betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen 
poniards are at thy bosom. 

Par. O ! 

First Sold. O, pray, pray, pray ! Manka 
revania dulche. 

Sec, Lord. Oscorbidulchos volivorco. 

First Sold. The general is content to spare 
thee yet ; 
And, hoodwink'd as thou art, will lead thee 
on 90 

To gather from thee : haply thou mayst in- 
form 
Something to save thy life. 

Par. O, let me live ! 

And all the secrets of our camj) I'll show. 
Their force, their purposes ; nay, I'll speak 

jhat 
Which you will w-onder at. 

First Sold. But wilt thou faithfully ? 

Par. n I do not, damn me. 

First Sold. Acordo linta. 
Come on ; thou art granted spaic. 

[Exit, with Parolles ijnarded. A short 
(darinn within. 

Sec. Lord. Go, tell the Count Rousillou, 
and my brother, 
We have caught the woodcock, and will keep 
him muffled 100 

Till we do hear from them. 

Sec. Sold. Ca|)tain, 1 will. 

Sec. Lord. A' will betray us all unto our- 
selves : 
Inform on that. 

Sec. Sold. So I will, sir. 

Sec. Lord. Till then I'll keep him dark and 
safely lock'd. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. Florence. The Widow's house. 

Enter Bertram and Diana. 

Bcr. They told me that your name was 

Fontibell. 
l>ia. No, my good lord, Diana. 
Ber. Titled goddesg : 

And worth it, with addition ! But, fair soul, 
In your fine frame hath love no quality ? 
,^ '^e quick fire of youth light not your mini* , 

i6 



706 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



[Act IV, 



You are no maiden, but a monument : 
Whea you are dead, you should be such a one 
As you are now, for you are cold and stern ; 
And now you should be as your mother was 
When your swee^. self was got. 10 

Diet. She then was honest. 

Ber. So should you be. 

Dia. No : 

My mother did but duty ; such, my lord. 
As you owe to your wife. 

Ber. No more o' that ; 

I prithee, do not strive against my vows : 
I was compell'd to her ; but I love thee 
By love's own sweet constraint, and will for 

ever 
Do thee all rights of service. 

Dia. Ay, so you serve us 

Till we serve you ; but when you have our 

roses, 
You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves 
And mock us with our bareness. 

Ber. How have I sworn ! 20 

Dia. 'Tis not the many oaths that makes 
the truth, 
But the plain single vow that is vow'd true. 
What is not holy, that we swear not by. 
But take the High'st to witness : then, pray 

you, tell me. 
If I should swear by God's great attributes, 
I loved you dearly, would you believe my 

oaths, 
When I did love you ill ? This has no hold- 
ing, 
To swear by him whom I protest to love. 
That I will work against him : therefore your 

oaths 
Are words aud poor conditions, but unseal'd. 
At least in my opinion. 31 

Ber. Change it, change it ; 

Be not so holy-cruel : love is holy ; 
And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts 
That vou do charge men with. Stand no more 

^off. 
But give thyself unto my sick desires. 
Who then recover : say thou art mine, and 

ever 
My lovo as it begins shall so persever. 

Dia. tl see that men make ropes in such a 
scarre 
That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that 
ring. 

Ber. I'll lend it thee, my dear ; but have no 
power 40 

To give it from me. 

Dia. Will you not, my lord ? 

Ber. It is an honor 'longing to our house. 
Bequeathed d.-ai^ Trom many ancestors ; 
Which were the greatest obloquy i' the world 
In me to lose. 

Dia. Mine honor's such a ring : 

My chastity's the jewel of our house. 
Bequeathed down Irom many ancestors ; 
Whidh were the greatest obloquy i' the world 
In mc to lose : thus your own proper wisdom 
Brings In the champion Honor on my part, 50 
Agamst your vain assault. 



Ber. Here, take my ring : 

My house, mine honor, yea, my life, be thine, 
And I'll be bid by thee. 
Dia. When midnight conies, knock at my 

chamber- window : 
I'll order take my mother shall not hear. 
Now will I charge you in the band of truth. 
When you have conquer'd my yet maiden bed, 
Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me : 
My reasons are most strong ; and you shall 

know them 
When back again this ring shall be deliver'd : 
And on your finger in the night I'll put 61 
Another ring, that what in time proceeds 
May token to the future our past deeds. 
Adieu, till then ; then, fail not. You have won 
A wife of me, though there my hope be done. 
Ber. A heaven on earth I have won by 

wooing thee. [Exit. 

Dia. For which live long to thank both 

heaven and me ! 
You may so in the end. 
My mother told me just how he would woo. 
As if she sat in 's heart ; she says all men 70 
Have the like oaths : he had sworn to marry 

me 
When his wife's dead ; therefore I'll lie with 

him 
When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so 

braid, 
Marry that will, I live aud die a maid : 
Only in this disguise I think't no sin 
To cozen him that would unjustly win. [Exit. 

Scene III. Tlie Florentine camp. 

Enter the tioo French Lords and some two or 
three Soldiers. 

First Lord. You have not given him hig 
mother's letter? 

Sec. Lord. I have delivered it an hour since ; 
there is .something in't that stings his nature ; 
for on the reading it he changed almost into 
another man. 

yirst Lord. He has much worthy blame 
laid upon him for shaking off so good a wife 
and so sweet a lady. 9 

Sec. Lord. Especially he hath incurred the 
everlasting displeasure of the king, who had 
even tuned his bounty to sing happiness to 
him. I will tell you a thing, but you shall let 
it dwell darkly with you. 

First Lord. ' When you have spoken it, 'tis 
dead, and I am the grave of it. 

Sec. Lord. He hath perverted a young gen- 
tlewoman here in Florence, of a most chaste 
renown ; and this night he fleshes his will in 
the spoil of her honor : he hath given her his 
mouumental ring, and thinks himself made in 
the unchaste composition. 

First Lord. Now, God delay our rebellion.' 
as we are ourselves, what things are we ! 

Sec. Lord. Merely our own traitors. And 
as in the common course of all treasons, we 
still see them reveal themselves, till they 
attain to their abhorred ends, so he that in thui 



e^ 



Scene hi.] 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



707 



action contrives against liis own nobility, in 
iii.s proper stream o'erfiows himself. 30 

Fir.'<t Lord. Is it not meant damnable in n.s, 
to be trumpeters of our unlawful intents ? We 
siiull not then have his company to-niglit ? 

Sac. Lord. Not till after midnight ; for he 
is dieted to his hour. 

FirH Lord. That approaches ai)ace ; I 
would gladly liavo him see his company anat- 
omized, that he miglit take a measure of his 
own judgments, wherein so curiously he had 
set this counterfeit. 40 

Sec. Lord. We will not meddle with him 
till lie come ; for liis presence must be the 
whip of the other. 

f^iritt Lord. In the mean time, what liear 
you of these wars ? 

.Scr. Lord. I hear there is an overture of 
peace. 

First Lord. Nay, I assure you, a peace con- 
cluded. 

.Sec. Lord. What will Count Rousillon do 
then ? will he travel higher, or return again 
into France ? 51 

First Lord. I perceive, by this demand, 
you are not altogether of his council. 

Sec. Lord. Let it be forbid, sir ; so should 
I be a great deal of his act. 

First Lord. Sir, his wife some two months 
since Med from his house : lier pretence is a pil- 
grimage to Saint .laques le Grand ; which holy 
undertaking with most austere sanctimony 
she accomplished ; and, tliere residing, the 
tenderness of her nature became as a prey to 
her grief ; in line, made a groan of her last 
breath, and now .she sings in heaven. 

Sec. Lord. How is this justified ? 

First Lord. The stronger part of it by her 
own letters, which makes her story true, even 
to tlio point (if her death : her death itself, 
wliicli <'()uld not be her office to say is come, 
was faithfully confirmed by the rector of tlie 
place. ' (iO 

Sic. Lord. Hath the count all this intelli- 
gence ? 

First Lord. Ay, and the particular confirm- 
ations, point from j)oint, so to the full arming 
of the verity. 

Sec. Lord. I am heartily sorry that he'll be 
glad of this. 

First Lord. How mightUy sometimes we 
make us comforts of our losses ! 

Sec. Lord. And how mightily some other 
times we drown our gain in tears ! The great 
dignity th:it his valor hath here acquired for 
liiui sliali at Iinme be encountered with a 
sliame as;imple. 

Fir.^l Lnrd. The web of our life is of a 
mingled yarn, good and ill together : our vir- 
tues Would be i)roud, if our faults whipped 
them not ; and our crimes would despair, if 
they were not cherished by our virtues. 

Enter a Messenger. 

How now ! where's your master? 
Serv. He met the duke in the street, eit, of 



whom he hath taken a solemn leave : his lord- 
ship will next morning for France. The duke 
hath offered him letters of commendations to 
the king. 

Sec. Lord. They shall be no more than 
needful there, if the^were more than they can 
commend. 

First Lord. They cannot be too sweet for 
the king's tartness. Here's his lordship now. 

Enter Bektkam. 
How now, my lord ! is't not after midnight? 

lier. 1 have to-night disjiatched si.xteeu 
businesses, a month's length a-piece, bj- an 
abstract of success : I have cougied with the 
duke, done my adieu with his nearest ; buried 
a wife, mourned for her ; writ to my lady 
mother I am returning ; entertained my con- 
voy ; and between these main parcels of dis- 
l)atch effected many nicer needs; the last was 
the greatest, but that I have not ended yet. 

Sec. Lord. If the business be of any diffi- 
culty, and this morning jour departure hence, 
it requires haste of your lordship. 109 

Bcr. I mean, the business is not ended, as 
fearing to hear of it hereafter. But shall we 
have t!iis dialogue between the fool and the 
soldier? Come, bring forth this counterfeit 
module, he has deceiv^ed me, like a double- 
meaning prophesier. 

Sec. Lord. Bring him forth : has sat i' the 
stocks all night, poor gallant knave. 

Ber. No matter ; his heels have deserved 
it, in usurping his spurs so long. How does he 
carry himself ? 120 

Sec. Lord. 1 have told your lordship already, 
the stocks carry him. But to answer you as 
you would be understood ; he weeps like a 
wench that had siied her milk : he hath con- 
fessed himself to Morgan, whom he supposes 
to be a friar, from the time of his remembrance 
to this very instant disaster of his setting i' the 
stocks : and what think you he hath confessed? 

Ber. Nothing of me, has a' ? 129 

Sec. Jjorrl. liis confession is taken, and it 
shall be read to his face : if your 'ordship bo 
in't, as I believe you are, you must havo the 
patience to liear it. 

FJnter Parollks epiarded, and First Soldier. 

Ber. A plague upon him ! muffled ! he can 
say nothing of me : hush, hush ! 

First Lord. Hoodman comes ! Portotarta- 
rosa. 

First Sold. He calls for the tortures : what 
will you .say without 'em ? 

Par. 1 will confess what I know without 
constraint : if ye pinch me like a pasty, I can 
say no more. 141 

First Sold. Bosko chimnrcho. 

First Lord. Boblibindo chicurmurco. 

First Sold. You are a merciful general. 
Our general bids you answer to what 1 shall 
ask you out of a note. 

Par. And truly, as I ho^ to live. 

First Sold. [Reads] ' FJw^ demand of him 



708 



ALVS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



[Act ir. 



how many liorse tlie duke is strong.' What 
say you to tliat ? 150 

Par. Five or six thousand ; but very weak 
and unserviceable: the troops are all scattered, 
and the commanders very poor rogues, upon 
my reputation and credit and as I hope to live. 

First Sold. Shall I set down your answer so? 

Par. Do : I'll take the sacrament ou't, how 
and which way you will. 

Bcr. All's one to him. Whatapa.st-saving 
slave is this ! 159 

First Lord. You're deceived, my lord : this 
is Monsieur ParoUes, the gallant militarist, — 
that was his own phrase, — that had the whole 
theoric of war in the knot of his scarf, and the 
l)ractice in the chape of his dagger. 

Sec. Lord. I will never trust a man again 
for keeping his sword clean, nor believe he 
can have every thing in him by wearing his 
ap)5arel neatly. 

First Sold. Well, that's set down. 169 

Par. Five or six thousand horse, I said, — I 
will say true, — or thereabouts, set down, for 
I'll speak truth. 

First Lord. He's very near the truth in 
this. 

Ber. But I con him no thanks for't, in the 
nature he delivers it. 

Par. Poor rogues, I pray you, say. 

First Sold. Well, that's set down. 

Par. I humbly thank you, sir: a truth's a 
truth, the rogues are marvellous poor. 179 

Fir.st Sold. [Reads} ' Demand of him, of 
what strength they are a-foot.' What say you 
to that ? 

Par. By my troth, sir, if I were to live this 
present hour, I will tell true. Let me see : 
Spurio, a hundred and tifty ; Seba.stian, so 
many; Corambus, so many ; Jaques, ,so many; 
Guilitian, Cosmo, Lodowick, and Gratii, two 
hundred and fifty each ; mine own company, 
Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two hundred and 
fifty each : so that the muster-lile, rotten and 
sound, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen 
thousand poll ; half of the which dare not 
shake the snow from off their cassocks, lest 
they shake themselves to pieces. 

Ber. What shall be done to him ? 

First Lord. Nothing, but let him have 
thanks. Denuind of him my condition, and 
what credit I have with the duke. 

First Sold. Well, that's set down. [Reads} 
'You shall demand of him, whether one Cap- 
tain Dumain be i' the camp, a Frenchman ; 
what his reputation is with the duke ; what 
his valor, honesty, and expertness in wars ; or 
whether he thinks it were not possible, with 
v.'ell-weighing sums of gold, to corrupt him to 
a revolt.' What say you to this ? what do 
you know of it ? 

Par. I beseech you, let me answer to the 
particular of the inter'gatories : demand them 
singly. 

First Sold, Do you know this captain 
vumain ? 210 

Par. I know him ; a' was a botcher's 'pren- 



tice in Paris, from whence he was whipped for 
getting the shrieve's fool with child, — a dumb 
innocent, that could not say him nay. 

Ber. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands ; 
though I know his brains are forfeit to the 
next tile that falls. 

First Sold. Well, is this captain in the duke 
of Florence's camp ? 219 

Par. Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy. 

First Lord. Nay, look not so upon me ; we 
shall hear of your lordship anon. 

Fir.'it Sold. What is his reputation witli tlie 
duke ? 

Par. The duke knows him for no other but 
a poor officer of mine ; and writ to me this 
otlier day to turn him out o' the baud : I think 
I have his letter in my pocket. 

First Sold. Marry, we'll search. 229 

Par. In good sadness, I do not know ; either 
it is there, or it is upon a file with the duke's 
other letters in my tent. 

First Sold. Here 'tis ; here's a paper : shall 
I read it to you ? 

Par. I do not know if it be it or no. 

Ber. Our interpreter does it well. 

First Lord. Excellently. 

First Sold. [Read.s] ' Dian, the count's a 
fool, and full of gold,' — 

Par. That is not the duke's letter, sir ; that 
is an advertisement to a proper maid in Flor- 
ence, one Diana, to take heed of the allure- 
ment of one Count Rousillon, a foolish idle 
boy, but for all that very ruttish : I pray you, 
sir, put it up again. 

First Sold. Nay, I'll read it first, by your 
favor. 

Par. My meaning in't, I protest, was very 
honest in the behalf of the maid ; for I knew 
the young couut to be a daugerous and las- 
civious boy, who is a whale to virginity and 
devours up all the fry it finds. 250 

Ber. Damnable both-sides rogue ! 

First Sold. [Reads] ' When he swears oaths, 
bid him drop gold, and take it ; 

After he scores, he never pays the score : 
Half won is match well made ; match, and 
well make it ; 

He ne'er pays after-debts, take it before ; 
And say a soldier, Dian, told thee this. 
Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss : 
For count of this, the count's a fool, I know it, 
Who pays before, but not when he does owe it. 

Thine, as he vowed to thee in thine ear, 260 
Pakolles.' 

Ber. He shall be whipped through the army 
with this rhyme iu's forehead. 

Sec. Lord. This is your devoted friend, sir, 
the manifold linguist and the armipotem 
soldier. 

Ber. I could endure any thing before but a 
cat, and now he's a cat to me. 

Fii'st Sold. I perceive, sir, by the general's 
looks, we shall be fain to hang you. 269 

Par. My life, sir, in any case : not that I 
am afraid to die ; but that, my offences being 
many, I would repent out the remainder of 



Scene iv.] 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



709 



nature : let me live, sir, iu a dungeon, i' tlie 
stocks, or any where, so I may live. 

Fir.st ,Sokl. We'll see what may be done, 
so you confess freely ; therefore, once more to 
this Captain Duniain : you have answered to 
liis rejiutation with the duke and to his valor : 
what is his honesty ? 27'J 

Par. He will steal, sir, an egg ont of a 
cloister : for rapes and ravishments he paral- 
lels Nessus : lie professes not keeping of oaths ; 
in breaking 'em he is stronger than Hercules: 
he will lie, sir, with such volubility, that you 
would tliink truth were a fool : drunkenness 
is his best virtue, for he will be swine-drunk ; 
and in his sleep he does little harm, save to 
his bed-clothes about him ; but they know his 
conditions and lay him in straw. I have but 
little more to say, sir, of his honesty : he has 
every thing that an hone.st man should not 
liave ; what an honest man should have, he 
has nothing. 

Fir^t Lord. I begin to love him for this. 

Ber. For this description of thine honesty? 
A po.x upon him for me, he's more and more a 
cat. 

First Sold. What say you to his expertness 
in war ? 

Par. Faith, sir, he lias led the drum before 
the English tragedians; Xo belie him, I will not, 
and more of his .soldiership 1 know not ; ex- 
cept, in tliat country he had the honor to be 
the officer at a place there called Mile-end, to 
instruct for the doubling of files : I would do 
the num what honor I can, bnt of this I am 
not certain. 

Flrtit Lord. He hath out-villained villany .so 
far, that tlie rarity redeems him. 

Ber. A pox on him. he's a cat still. 

First Sold. His qualities being at this poor 
price, I need not to ask yon if gold will corrujit 
liini to revolt. ;>10 

Par. Sir, for a quart d'ecu he will sell the 
fee-simple of his salvation, the inheritance of 
it ; and cut the entail from all remainders, and 
a jierpetual succession for it perpetually. 

Fir.'^t Sold. What's his brother, the other 
Captain Dumain ? 

See. Lord. Why does he ask him of me ? 

First Sold. Wliat's he ? 

Par. E'en a crow o' the .same nest ; not 
altogether so great as the first in goodness, but 
greater a great deal in evil : he excels his 
brother for a coward, yet liis brother is reputed 
one of the best that is : in a retreat he outruns 
any lackey ; marry, in coming on he has tlie 
cramp. 

First Sold. If your life be saved, will you 
undertake to betray the Florentine ? 

Par. Ay, and the captain of his horse. 
Count Rousillon. 

First Sold. I'll whisper with the general, 
and know his pleasure. ;>.!0 

Par. [Aside] I'll no more drumming : a 
plague of all drums ! Only to seem to deserve 
well, and to beguile the "supposition of that 
lascivioua young boy the count, have I run 



into this danger. Yet who would have siis- 
pected an ambush where I was taken ? 

First Sold. There is no remedy, sir, but 
you must die : the general says, you that luive 
so traitorously discovered the secrets of your 
army and made such pestiferous reports of 
men very nobly held, can serve the world for 
no honest use ; therefore you must die. Come, 
headsman, off with his head. [ray death ! 

Par. Lord, sir, let me live, or let me see 

First Lord. That shall you, and take your 
leave of all your friends. [Unblinding him. 
So, look about you : know you any here ? 

Ber. Good morrow, noble captain. 349 

Sec Lord. God bless you. Captain Parolles. 

First Lord. God save you, noble caiitain. 

Sec. Lord. Captain, what greeting will you 
to my Lord Lafeu ? I am for France. 

First Lord. Good captain, will you give me 
a copy of the sonnet you writ to Diana in lie- 
half of the Count Rousillon ? an 1 were not a 
very coward, I'ld compel it of you : but fare 
you well. [Exeunt Bertram and Lords. 

First Sold. You are undone, captain, all 
but your scarf ; that has a knot on't yet. 359 

Par. Who cannot be crushed with a plot ? 

First Sold. If you could find out a country 
where but women were that had received so 
much shame, you might begin an impudent 
nation. Fare ye well, sir ; I am for France 
too : we shall speak of you there. 

[Exit with Soldiers. 

Par, Yet am I thankful : if my heart were 
great, 
'Twould burst at this. Captiiin I'll be no more ; 
But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft 
As captain shall : simply the thing I am 
Shall make me live. Who knows himself a 
braggart, 370 

Let him fear this, for it will come to pass 
That every braggart shall be found an ass. 
Rust, sword ! cool, blu.shes ! and, Parolles, live 
Safest in shame ! being fool'd, by foolery 

thrive ! 
There's place and means for everv man alive. 
I'll after them. * [Exit 

Scene IV. Florence. The Widow's house. 
Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana. 

Hel. That you may well perceive I have not 

wrong'd you. 
One of the greatest in the Christian world 
Shall be my surety ; 'fore whose throne 'tis 

needful. 
Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel : 
Time was, I did him a desired office, 
Dear almost as his life ; which gratitude 
Througli flinty Tartar's bosom would peeji 

forth. 
And answer, thanks : I duly am inf-^rra'd 
His grace is at Marseilles ; to which place 
We have convenient convoy. You uuist know, 
I am supposed dead : the army breaking, 11 
My husband hies bim home ; where, heaven 

aidiud' 



TIO 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



[Act ir. 



And by the leave of my good lord the king, 

We'll be before our welcome. 

Will. Gentle madam, 

Yon never had a servant to whose trust 

Your business was more welcome. 
Hd. Nor you, mistress, 

Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labor 

To recompense your love : doubt not but heaven 

Hath brought me up to be your daughter's 
dower. 

As it hath fated her to be my motive 20 

And helper to a linsband. But, C) strange men ! 

That can such sweet use make of what they 
hate. 

When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts 

Defiles the ])itchy night : so lust doth play 

With what it loathes for that which is away. 

But more of this liereafter. You, Diana, 

Under my poor instructions yet must suffer 

Something in my behalf. 
Did. Let death and honesty 

Go with your impositions, I am yours 

Upon your will to suffer. 
Ilel. Yet, I pray you : ^0 

But with the word the time will bring on sum- 
mer. 

When briers shall have leaves as well as 
thorns. 

And be as sweet as sharp. We must away ; 

Our wagon is prepared, and time revives us : 

Ali/s WELii THAT ENDS WELL : Still the fine's 
the crown ; 

Whate'er the course, the end is the renown. 

[Exennt. 

Scene V. RousiUon. The Couj^t' spalacp. 
Enter Countess, Lafeu, and Clown. 

Laf. No, no, no, your son was misled with 
a snipt-taffeta fellow there, whose villanous 
saffron would have made all the unbaked and 
doughy youth of a nation in his color : your 
daughter-in-law had been alive at this hour, 
and your son here at home, more advanced by 
tlie king tlum by that red-tailed humble-bee I 
si)eak of. 

doitnt. I would I had not known liim ; it 
was the death of the most virtuous gentle- 
woman that ever nature had praise for 
creating. If she had partaken of my flesh, 
and cost me the dearest groans of a motlier, I 
could not have owed her a more rooted love. 

Ldf. 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a gixjd ladj' : 
we may pick a thousand .salads ere we light on 
such another herb. 

(Ho. Indeed, .sir, she was the sweet marjo- 
ram of the salad, or rather, the herb of grace. 

Laf. They are not herbs, you knave ; they 
are nose-herbs. 20 

Clo. I am no grei.t Nebuchadnezzar, sir ; 1 
have not much skill in grass. 

Laf. Whether dost thou profess thyself, a 
knave or a fool ? 

Clo. A fool, sir, at a woman's service, and a 
kuave at a man's. 

LaJ'. Your distinctiou ? 



Clo. I would cozen the man of his wife and 
do his service. 

Laf. So you were a knave at his service, 
indeed. 31 

Clo. And I would give his wife my bauble, 
sir, to do her service. 

//(//. I will subscribe for thee, thou art 
both knave and fool. 

Clo. At your service. 

Laf. No, no, no. 

Clo. Why, sir, if I cannot serve j'ou, I can 
serve as great a prince as you are. 

Laf. Who's that ? a Frenchman ? 40 

Clo. Faith, sir, a' has an Englisli name ; 
but his fisnomy is more hotter in France than 
tliere. 

Laf. What prince is that ? 

Clo. The black prince, sir ; alias, the 
l)rince of darkness ; alias, the devil. 

iMf. Hold thee, there's my purse : I give 
thee not this to suggest thee from thy master 
thou talkest of ; serve him still. 

Clo. I am a woodland fellow, sir, that 
alwavs loved a great fire ; and the master I 
speak of ever keeps a good fire. But, sure, he 
is the prince of the world ; let his nobility re- 
main in's court. I am for the house with the 
narrow gate, which I take to be too little for 
pomp to enter : some that humble tliem.selves 
may ; but the many will be too chill and 
tender, and they'll be for the flowery wa.y that 
leads to the broad gate and the great fire. 

Laf. Go thy ways, I begin to be aweary of 
thee; and I tell thee so before, because I would 
not fall out witli thee. Go thy ways : let my 
hor.ses be well looked to, without any tricks. 

Clo. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they 
shall be jades' tricks ; which are their o«n 
right by the law of nature. [Exit. 

Laf. A shrewd knave and an unhappy. 

Count. So he is. My lord that's gone made 
liimself mucli sport out of him : by his author- 
ity he remains here, which he thinks is a 
]iatent for his sauciuess ; aud, indeed, he has 
no pace, but runs where he will. 71 

Laf. I like him well ; 'tis not amiss. And 
I was about to tell you, since I heard of the 
good lady's death and that my lord your son 
was upon his return home, I moved the king 
my master to si)eak in the behalf of /uy daugh- 
ter ; which, in the minoi'ity of them both, his 
majesty, out of a self-gracious remembrance, 
did first propose : his highness hath promised 
me to do it : and, to stop up the displeasure 
he hath conceived against your sou, there is 
no fitter matter. How does your ladyship 
like it? 

Count. With very much content, my lord ; 
and I wish it happily effected. 

Laf. His highness comes post from Mar- 
seilles, of as able body as when he numbered 
thirty : lie will be here to-morrow, or I am de- 
ceived by him that in such intelligence hath 
seldom failed. 

Count. It rejoices me, that I hope I shall 
see him ere I die. 1 have letters that my soa 



SCEN£ II.] 



ALL'b WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



:u 



will be here to-night : I shall beseech your 
Jordsliip to remain with me till they meet to- 
gether. 

Laf. Madam, I was thinking with what 
manners I might safely be admitted. 

Count. You need but plead your honorable 
privilege. 

Laf. Lady, of that I have made a bold 
charter ; but I thank my God it holds yet. 
Re-enter Clown. 

Clo. O madam, yonder's my lord your son 
with a patch of velvet on's face: whether 
there be a scar uuder't or no, the velvet 
knows ; but 'tis a goodly patch of velvet : his 
left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a half, but 
his right cheek is worn bare. 

Laf. A scar nobly got, or a noble sear, ia a 
good livery of honor ; so belike is that. 

Clo. But it is your carbonadoed face. 

Laf. Let us go see your son, I pray you : I 
long to talk Avith the young noble soldier. 109 

Clo. Faith there's a dozen of 'em, with 
delicate fine hats and most courteous feathers, 
wldch bow the head and nod at every man. 

[_Exeunt. 



Scene L 



ACT V. 

Marseilles. A street. 



Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana, with two 
Attendants. 

Hel. But this exceeding posting day and 
night 
Must wear your spirits low ; we cannot help 

it : 
But since you have made the days and nights 

as one. 
To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs, 
Be bold you do so grow in my requital 
As nothing can unroot you. In happy time ; 

Enter a Gentleman. 
This man may hel]i me to his majesty's ear. 
If he would spend his power. God save you, 
sir. 
Gent. And you. 

Hel. Sir, I have seen you in the court of 
France. 10 

Gent. I have been sometimes there. 
Hel. I do presume, sir, that you are not 
fallen 
From tlie report that goes upon your good- 
ness ; 
And therefore, goaded with most sharp occa- 
sions. 
Which lay nice manners by, I put you to 
The use of your own virtues, for the which 
I shall continue thankful. 

Gent. What's your will ? 

Hel. That it will please you 
To give this poor petition to the king. 
And aid me with that store of power you 
have 20 

To come into his presence. 



Gent. The king's not here. 

Hel. Not here, sir ! 

Gent. Not, indeed : 

He hence removed last night and witli more 

haste 
Than is his use. 

Wid. Lord, how we lose our jiains 1 

Hel. All's well that ends well yet, 
Though time seem so adverse and means un- 
fit. 
I do beseech you, whither is he gone ? 

Gent. Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon ; 
Whither I am going. 

Hel. I do beseech you, sir. 

Since you are like to see the king before nie. 
Commend the paper to his gracious hand, 31 
AVhich I presume shall render you no blame 
But rather make you thank your pains for it. 
I will come after you with what good speed 
Our means will make us means. 

Gent. This I'll do for you. 

Hel. And you shall find yourself to be well 
thank'd, 
Whate'er falls more. We must to horse 

again. 
Go, go, provide. [Exevnt. 

Scene II. Rousillon. Before the Count's 
palace. 

Enter Clown, and Pakoi^les, following. 

Far. Good Monsieur Lavache, give my 
Lord Lefeu this letter : I have ere now, sir, 
been better known to you, when I have held 
familiarity with fresher clothes ; but I am 
now, sir, muddied in fortune's mood, and 
smell somewhat strong of her strong dis- 
pleasure. 

Clo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but 
sluttish, if it smell so strongly as thou speak- 
est of : I will henceforth eat no fish of for- 
tune's buttering. Prithee, allow the wind. 10 

Par. li&y, you need not to stop your nose, 
sir ; I spake but by a metaphor. 

Clo. Indeed, sir, if your metajJior stink, I 
will stop my nose ; or against any man's meta- 
phor. Prithee, get thee further. 

Par. Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. 

Clo. Foh! prithee, stand away : a paper 
from fortune's close-stool to give to a noble- 
man ! Look, here he comes himself. 19 
Enter Lafeu. 

Here is a lurr of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's 
cat, — but not a mask-cat, ^ — that has fallen in- 
to the unclean fishjwud of ner displeasure, 
and, as he says, is muddied withal : pray you, 
sir, use the carp as you may ; for he looks 
like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, ras- 
cally knave. I do pity his distress in my 
similes of comfort and leave him to your loid- 
ship. [Erit. 

Pa?: My lord, T am a man whom fortune 
hath cruelly scratched. 29 

Laf And what would you have me to do ? 
'Tis too late to pare her nails now. Wherein 
have you played the knave with fortune that 



712 



ALLS WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



[Act v. 



she should scratch yon, who of herself is .1 
good l.idy and would not liave knaves thrive 
lonj? under her? 'J'here's a quart d'ecu for 
you : let the justices inalie you and fortune 
friends : I am lor other business. 

Par. I beseech your honor to hear me one 
sinj^le word. 

Laf. You beg a single penny more : come, 
you shall ha'i ; save your word. 40 

Pur. My name, my good lord, ii Parolles. 

L'if. You beg more than 'word,' tlien. 
Cox my i)assion ! give me your hand. How 
does your druui ? 

Far. O my good lord, you were the first 
that found me ! 

Laf. Was 1, in sooth ? and I was the first 
that lost thee. 

Par. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in 
some grace, for you did bring me out. 50 

Laf. Out upon thee, knave ! dost thou put 
upon me at once both the office of God and 
the devil ? One brings thee in grace and the 
other brings thee out. {Trumpets so and. ~\ The 
king's coming ; I know by his trumpets. 
Sirrah, inquire furtlier after me , I had talk of 
you last night . though you are a fool and a 
knave, you shall eat ; go to, follow. 

Par. I praise God for you. {Exeunt. 

ScENK III. Rousillon. The Count's palace. 

Flour isli. Enter King, Countess, Lafeu, 
the two Frencl( Lords, loith Attendants. 

Kinc). We lost a jewel of her ; and our 

esteem 
Was made much poorer by it : but your son, 
As inad in folly, lack'd the sense to know 
Her estimation home. 

Count. 'Tis past, my liege ; 

And I beseech your majesty to make it 
Natural rebellion, done i' the blaze of youth ; 
When oil and fire, too strong for reason's 

force, 
O'erbears it and burns on. 

King. My honor'd lady, 

T have forgiven and forgotten all ; 
Though my revenges were high bent upon 

him, 
And watch'd the time to shoot. 

Laf. This I must say, 11 

But first I beg my pardon, the young lord 
Did to his majesty, his motherland Ins lady 
Offence of mighty note ; but to himself 
The greatest wrong of all. Pie lost a wife 
Whose beauty did astonish the survey 
Of richest eyes, whose words all ears took 

captive. 
Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn'd to 

serve 
Humbly call'd mistress. 

King. Praising what is lost 

Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him 

hither ; 20 

We are leconciled, and the first view shall 

kill 
All repetition : let him not ask our pardon 



The nature of his great offence is dead. 
And deeper than oblivion we do bury 
Tlie incensing relics of it : let liim approach, 
A stranger, no offendei' : and inform him 
So 'tis our will he should. 
Gent. I shall, my liege. [Exit. 

King. What says he to your daughter ? 

nave you spoke ? 
Laf. All that he is hath reference to your 

highness. 
King. Then shall we have a match. I have 
letters sent me .TO 

That set him high in fame. 

Enter Bertram. 

Laf. He looks well on't. 

King. I am not a day of season, 
For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail 
In me at once : but to tlie briglitest beams 
Distracted clouds give way ; so stand thou 

forth ; 
The time is fair again. 

Ber. My high-repented blames. 

Dear sovereign, pardon to me. 

King. All is whole ; 

Not one word more of the consumed time. 
Let's take the instant by the forward top ; 
For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees 40 
The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time 
Steals ere we can effect them. You remember 
The daughter of this lord ? 

Ber. Admirhigly, my liege, at first 
I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart 
Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue 
Where the impression of mine eye infixing. 
Contempt his scornful perspective did lend 

me. 
Which warp'd the line of every other favor ; 
Scorn'd a fair color, or express'd it stolen ; 50 
Extended or contracted all proportions 
To a most hideous object : thence it came 
Tliat she whom all men praised and whou. 

myself. 
Since I have lost, have loved, was in mine eye 
The dust that did offend it. 

King. Well excused : 

That thou didst love her, strikes some scores 

away 
From the great compt : but love that comes 

too late, 
Lilce a remorseful pardon slowly carried. 
To the great sender turns a sour offence, 
Crying, ' That's good that's gone.' Our r.asn 
faults 60 

Make trivial price of serious things we have, 
Not knowing them until we know their grave: 
Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, 
Destroy our friends and after weep their dust: 
tOur own love waking crits to see what's 

done. 
While shame full late sleeps out the after- 
noon. 
Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget 

her. 
Send forth your amorous token for fair Maud- 
lin : 



Scene iii.| 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



718 



The main consents are had ; and here we'll 

stay 
To see our widower's second inarriage-day. 70 
(Jiiunt. AN'hich better tlian the first, O dear 
lieaven, bless ! 
Or, ere tliey meet, in me, O nature, cesse ! 
//((/'. Come on, my sou, iu whom my 
liouse's name 
Must be digested, give a favor from you 
To sparlvle in the spirits of my daughter, 
Tiiat slie may qtiiciily come. [Bertram gives 

a rii);/.] Hy my old l>eard, 
And every liair that's on't, Helen, that's 

dead, 
Was ii sweet creature : such a ring as this, 
The last tluit e'er 1 took her leave at court, 
I saw upon her finger. 
Ber. Hers it was not. 80 

Kinr/. Now, pray jdu, let me see it ; for 
mine eye, 
While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't. 
This ring was mine ; and, when I gave it 

Helen, 
I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood 
Necessiticd to help, that by this token 
I would relieve her. Had you that craft, to 

reave her 
Of what should stead her most ? 

/''/•. My gracious sovereign, 

rlowe'er it pleases you to take it so. 
The ring was never hers. 

L'oiint. Son, on my life, 

I have seen her wear it ; and she reckon'd it 
At her life's rate. Ill 

I'<(/. I am sure I saw her wear it. 

/j<r. You are deceived, mj^ lord , .«he nev- 
er saw it : [me. 
In Florence was it from a casement thrown 
\\ lapii'd in a i>aper, which contain'd the name 
Of her that threw it : noble she was, and 

thought 
I stood engaged : but when I had subscribed 
To mine own fortune and inform'd her fully 
1 could not answer in that course of honor 
As she had made the overture, she ceased 
In heavy satisfaction and would never 100 
Receive the ring again. 

Kin;/. Plutus himself. 

That knows the tinct and multiplying medi- 
cine. 
Hath, not in nature's mystery more science 
Tiian I have in this ring : 'twas mine, 'twas 

Helen's, 
Whoever gave it yon. Tlien, if you know 
riiat you are well acquainted with yourself. 
Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough en- 
forcement 
You got it from her : she call'd the saints to 

surety 
Thiit she would never put it from her finger, 
Unless she gave it to yourself in bed, 110 

Where yon have never come, or sent it us 
Upon her great disaster. 
i^er. She never saw it. 

KliH/. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love 
uiiue honor ; 



And makest conjectural fears to come into 

me 
Which I would fain .shut out. If it should 

prove [so ; — 

That thou art so inhuman, — 'twill not prove 
And yet I know not : thou didst hate her 

deadly, 
And she is dead ; which nothing, but to close 
Her eyes, myself, could win me to believe. 
More than to see this ring. Take him away. 
IGuards seize Bertram. 
My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall, 
Shall tax my fears of little vanity, 
Having vainly fear'd too little! Away with 

him ! 
We'll sift this matter further. 

Ber. If you shall prove 

This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy 
Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, 
Where yet she never was. [K.rit, (/imrded. 
King. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings. 

Enter a Gentleman. 
Gent. Gracious sovereign, 

Whether I have been to blame or no, 1 know 

not : 
Here's a petition from a Florentine, i;50 

Who hath for four or five removes come short 
To tender it herself. I undertook it, 
Yanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and 

speech 
Of the poor suppliant, who by this I know 
Is here attending : her business looks in her 
With an impoiting visage ; and she told me, 
In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern 
Your highness with herself. 

King. [Reads] U])on his many protestations 
to many me when his wife was dead, I blush 
to say it, he won me. Now is the Count Rou- 
sillon .a widower : his vows are forfeited to 
me, and my honor's paid to him. He stole 
from Florence, taking no leave, and 1 follow 
him to his country for justice : grant it me, O 
king ! in you it best lies ; otherwise a seducer 
flourishes, and a poor maid is undone. 

Diana Capilet. 

Laf. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, 

and toll for this I'll none of him. 

King. The heavens have thought well on 

thee, Lafeu, 150 

To bring forth this discovery. Seek these 

suitors : 
Go speedily and bring again the count. 
I am afeard the life of Helen, lady, 
Was foully snatch'd. 
Count. Now, justice on the doers ! 

Re-enter Bertram, guarded. 
King. I wonder, sir, sith wives are mon- 
sters to you. 
And that you fly them as you swear them 

lordship, 
Yet you desire to marry. 

Enter Widow and Diana. 

What woman's that ? 
Dia. I am, my lord, a wretched Floreutine, 



714 



ALL S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



[Act v. 



Derived from the ancient Capilet : 
My suit, as I do understand, you know, 160 
And therefore know how far I may be pitied. 
Wid. 1 am her mother, sir, whose age and 
honor 
Both suffer under tliis complaint we bring, 
And both shall cease, without your remedy. 
King. Come hither, count ; do yon know 

these women ? 
Ber. My lord, I neither can nor will deny 
But that I know them : do they charge me 
further ? 
Dia. Why do you look so strange upon 

your wife ? 
Ber. She's none of mine, my lord. 
Dia If you shall marry, 

You give away this hand, and that is mine ; 
You give away heaven's vows, and those are 
mine ; 171 

You give away myself, which is known mine; 
For I by vow am so embodied yours. 
That she which marries you must marry me. 
Either both or none. 

Laf. Your reputation comes too short for 
my daughter ; you are no husband for her. 
Ber. My lord, this is a fond and desperate 
creature, 
Wliom sometime I have laugh'd with : let 
your highness 179 

Lay a more iioble thought upon mine honor 
Than for to think that I would sink it here. 
King. Sir, for my thouglits, you have them 
ill to friend 
Till your deeds gain them : fairer prove your 

honor 
Than in my thought it lies. 

Dia. Good my lord,* 

Ask him upon his oath, if he does think 
He had not my virginity. 
King. What say'st thon to her ? 
Ber. She's impudent, my lord, 

And was a common gamester to the camp. 
Dia. He does me wrong, my lord ; if I were 
so, 
He might have bought me at a common price : 
Do not believe him. 0, behold this ring. 
Whose high respect and rich validity 
Did lack a parallel ; yet for all that 
He gave it to a commoner o' the camp, 
If I be one. 

Count. He blushes, and 'tis it : 
Of six preceding ancestors, that gem, 
Con f err' d by testament to the sequent issue, 
Hath it been owed and worn. This is his 

wife ; 
That ring's a thousand proofs. 

King. Methought you said 

You saw one here in court could witness it. 
Dia. I did, my lord, but loath am to pro- 
duce 201 
So bad an instrument : his name's Parolles. 
Laf. I saw the man to-day, if man he be. 
King. Find him, and bring him hither. 

\_Exit an Attendant. 
Ber. What of him ? 

He's quoted for a most perfidious slave, 



With all the spots o' the world tax'd and de- 

bosh'd ; 
Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth. 
Am I or that or this for what he'll utter. 
That will speak any thing ? 

King. She hath that ring of yours. 

Ber. 1 think she has : certain it is I liked 
her, 210 

And boarded her i' the wanton way of youth : 
She knew her distance and did angle for me, 
Madding my eagerness with her restraint, 
As all impediments in fancy's course 
Are motives of more fancy ; and, in fine, 
Her Lufinite cunning, with her modern grace, 
Subdued mc to her rate : she got the ring ; 
And I had that which any inferior might 
At market-price have bought. 

Dia. I must be patient i 

You, that have turn'd off a first so noble 
wife, 22d 

May justly diet me. I pray you yet ; 
Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband ; 
Send for your ring, 1 will return it home. 
And give me mine again. 

Ber. I have it not. 

King. What ring was yours, I pray you ? 

Dia. Sir, much like 

The same upon your finger. 

King. Know you this ring ? this ring was 
his of late. [abed. 

Dia. And this was it 1 gave him, being 

King. The story then goes false, you threw 
it" him 
Out of a casement. 

Dia. I have spoke the truth. 230 

Enter Pakolles. 

Ber. My lord, I do confess the ring was 
hers. 

King. You boggle shrewdly, every feather 
starts you. 
Is this the man you apeak of ? 

Dia. Ay, my lord. 

King. Tell me, sirrah, but tell ine true, I 
charge you, 
Not fearing the displeasure of your master. 
Which on your just proceeding I'll keep off, 
By him and by this woman here what know 
you ? 

Par. So please your majesty, my master 
hath been an honorable gentleman : tricks he 
hath had in him, which gentlemen have. 240 

King. Come, coine, to the purpose : did he 
love this woman ? 

Par. Faith, sir, he did love her ; but how? 

King. How, I pray you ? 

Par. He did love her, sir, aa a gentleman 
loves a woman. 

King. How is that ? 

Par. He loved her, sir, and loved her not 

King, As thou art a knave, and no knave. 
What an equivocal companion is this I 250 

Par. I am a poor man, and at your majesty's 
command. 

Laf. He's a good drum, my lord, but A 
naughty orator. 



Scene iii.J 



ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 



715 



Dia. Do you kuow lie promised me mar- 

riaj^e ? 
Par. Faith, I know more tlian I'll speak. 
Kiuf/. But wilt tlioii not speak all thou 

knowest ? 
Par. Yes, so please your majesty. I did 
go between them, as I said ; but more than 
that, he ioved her : for indeed he was mad for 
her, and talked of Satan and of Limbo and of 
Furies and I know n<it what : yet 1 was in that 
oredit with them at that time that 1 knew of 
their going to bed, and of otlier motions, as 
promising her marriage, and things which 
would derive me ill will to speak of ; therefore 
1 will not s|ieak what I know. 

King. Thou hast spoken all already unless 

thou canst say they are married : but tnou art 

too tine in thy evidence ; therefore stand aside. 

This ring, you say, was yours ? 271 

Dia. Aj', my good lord. 

Kinf/. Where did you buy it ? or who gave 

it you ? 
Dia. It was not given ine, nor 1 did not buy 

it. 
King. Who lent it you ? 
Dia. It was not lent me neither. 

King. Where did you find it, then ? 
Dia. I found it not. 

King. If it were yours by none of all these 
ways. 
How could you give it him ? 
Dia. 1 never gave it him. 

Laf. This woman's an easy glove, my lord; 
she goes off and on at pleasure. 
Kim/. This ring was mine ; I gave it his 
'rir.st wife. 280 

Dia. It might be yours or hers, for aught 1 

know. 
King. Take her away; I do not like her 
now ; 
To prison with her : and away with him. 
Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst tiiis 

ring. 
Thou diest within this hour. 

Dia. I'll never tell you. 

King. Take her away. 
Dia. I'll put in bail, my Uege. 

King. I think thee now some common cus- 
tomer. 
Dia. By Jove, if ever I knew man, 'twas 

you. 
King. Wherefore hast thou accused him all 

this while ? 
Ilia. Because he's guilty, and he is not 
guilty: ■ 290 

He knows I am no maid, and he'll swear to't; 
I'll swear I am a maid, and he knows not. 
Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life ; 
1 am either maid, or else this old man's wife. 
King. She does abuse our ears : to prison 

with her. 
Dia. Good mother, fetch my bail. Stay, 
royal sir : [Exit Widoio. 

Tlie jeweller that owes the ring is sent for, 
And lie shall surety me. But for this lord, 
Who hath abused iue, as he knows himaitif^^ i 



Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit 
him : 300 

He knows himself my bed he hath defiled ; 

And at that time he got his wife with child : 

Dead though she be, she feels her young one 
kick : 

So there's my riddle: one that's dead is quick: 

And now behold tlie meaning. 

Re-enter Widow, witli Helena. 

King. Is there no exorciM 

Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes ? 
Is't real that 1 see ? 

Hel. No, my good lord ; 

'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see, 
The name and not the thing. 

Ber. Both, both. 0, pardon I 

Hel. O my good lord, when I was like this 

maid, 310 

I found you wondrous kind. There is your 

ring ; 
And, look you, here's your letter ; this it says: 
' When from my finger you can get this ring 
And are by me with child,' &c. This is done: 
Will you be mine, now you are doubly won ? 

Ber. If she, my liege, can make me know 
this clearly, 
I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. 

Hel. It it appear not plaui and prove un- 
true, 
Deadly divorce step between me and you ! 

my dear mother, do I see you living ? 320 
Laf. Mine eyes smell onions ; I shall weep 

anon : 
[To Parolles] Good Tom Drum, lend me a 
handkercher : so, 

1 tliank thee : wait on me home, I'll make sport 

with thee : 
Let thy courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones. 
King. Let us from point to point this story 

know, 
To make the even truth in pleasure flow. 
[ To Diana] If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped 

flower, 
Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy 

dower ; 
For I can guess that by thy honest aid 
Thou keep'st a wife herself, thyself a maid. 
Of that and all tlie progress, more or less, 331 
Re.solvedly more leisure shall express : 
AH yet seems well ; and if it end so meet. 
The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. 

[Flourish. 



EPILOGUE. 

King. Ilie king's a beggar, now the play Is 
done : 
All is well ended, if this suit be won. 
That you express content ; which we will pay, 
With strife to please you, day exceeding day : 
Ours be your patience then, and yours our 

parts ; 
Your gentle hauda lend us, and take our hearts. 
■ [Exeunt. 34(i 



MEASURE FOE MEASURE. 



(written about 1(503.) 



INTRODUCTION. 

This is one of the darkest and most painful of the come<lies of Shakespeare, but its darkness is 
lit by the central figure of Isabella, witli her wliite passion of purity ami of iiuliguation against sin. 
The play deals with deep things of our humanity — with righteuusness and oharily, with self-deceit, 
and moral wi-akm^ss and strength, even with life and death themselves. All that is soft, melodious, 
romantic, has <lisa|i|M';ired from the style ; it shows a fearless vigor, penetrating imagination, and 
much intelle<-tual force and boldness. " Its date is uncertain. Two passages (Act I., Sc. r. L. ti8-7.'{, 
and Act 11., .Sc. iv., L. 24-2it) have been conjectured to contain "a courtly apology fur King .James 
1 .'s stately and ungracious demeanor on his entry into Kngland ; " and possibly the revival in 1604 
of a statute which punishetl wiih death any divorced person who married again while his or her 
former husband or wife was living, may have added point to one chief incident in the play. Shake- 
speare took the story from Whetstone's pl.ay J'romns and Cassandra (1578), and the prose telling of 
the tale by the same author in his Ileptameron of Ciinl Discourses (15S2). Whetstone's original 
was a story in the Hecatomithi of Giraldi Cinthio. Shakespeare .alters some of the incidents, making 
the liuke "present in disguise throughout, preserving the honor of the heroine, and introducing the 
character of Mariana to take her wifely place by Angelo as a substitute for Isabella. Measure/or 
Measure, like The Merchant of Venice, is remarkable for its great pleading scenes ; and to Portia's 
ardor and intellectual force Isabella adds a noble severity of character, a devotion to an ideal of 
rectitude and purity, and a religious enthusiasm. In Vienna, " where corruption boils and bub- 
bles," appears this figure of virginal strength and uprightness ; at the last she is to preside over the 
sinful city and perhaps to save it. She is almost " a thing ensky'd and sainted," yet she returns 
from the cloister to tlie world, there to till her place as wife and Duchess. Angelo, at the outset, 
though he must be cons<MOU8 of the wrong he has done to his betrothed, is more self-deceived than a 
deceiver. He does not know his own heart, and is severe against others in his imagined superiority 
to every possible temptation. A terrilile abyss is opened to him in the evil passion of his own i\:\- 
tiire. The unmasking of the self-deceiver is not here, as in the happy comedies, a piece of the 
nurth of the play ; it is painful and stern. I'he Duke acts throughout as a kind of overruling 
providence ; he has the wisdom of the serpent, which he uses for good ends, and he looks through 
life with a steady gaze, which results in a justice and even tenderness towards others. Claudio is 
made chiefly to be sjived by his sister, but lie has a grace of youth and a clinging enjoyment of life 
and love, which interest us in him sutticiently for pity if not for admiration. The minor characters 
possess each his chtiriicterisLic feature, but are less important individually than as representatives 
of the wide-spread social corriii>tioii and degivadation which surround the chief characters, and form 
the Koil on which they move and the air they breathe. " We never throughout the play get into the 
free open joyous atmosphere, so invigorating in other works of Shakespeare ; the oppre.ssive gloom 
of the prison, the foul breath of the house of shame, are only exchanged for the chilly damp of con- 
ventual walls, or the oppressive retirement of the monastery." 



DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 



ViNCEJfTio, the Diike- 

ANf;ELO, Deputy. 

KscAi.t's, an ancient Lord. 

Claudio, a young gentleman. 

Lucio, a fanta.'^tic. 

Two other gentlemen. 

Pkovost 

Thomas, ) 

Peter, ( 

A Justice. 

Varbius. 

Elbow, a simple constable. 

Froth, a foolish geutlemaa. 

<716> 



two friars. 



PoMPEV, servant to Mistress Overdona 
Abhorson, an executioner. 
Barnardine, a dissolute jnisoner. 

Isabella, sister to Claudio. 
Mariana, betrotlied to Angelo. 
JtJLiET, beh)ved of Claudio. 
FRANCisfiA, a nun. 
Mistress Overdone, a bawd. 

Lords, Officers, Citizens, Boy, and Attendants. 

Scene : Vienna. 



SCENK II.] 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



717 



ACT I. 

Scene I. An apartment in the Dvviv'iijxdacc. 
Enter Duke, Escalus, Lords and Attendauts. 

Duke. Escalus. 

Escal. My lord. 

Duke. Of government tlie i)roperties to 
unfold, [course ; 

Would seem in me to affect speech and dis- 
Since I am put to know that your own science 
Exceeds, in that, the lists of all advice 
My strength can give you : then no more re- 
mains, 

tBut that to your sufficiency 

as your worth is able. 

And let them work. The nature of our people, 
( )ur city's institutions, and tlie terms 11 

For common justice, you're as pregnant in 
As art and practice hath enriched any 
'I'hat we remember. There is our commission. 
From which we would not have you warp. 

Call hither, 
I say, bid come before us Angelo. 

[Exit an Attendant. 
What figure of us think you lie will bear? 
For you must know, we have witli special soul 
l'",k'cted liim our absence to supply, 
Leut him our terror, dress'd liim with our love, 
And given his deputation all the organs 21 

( U' our own power : what think you of it ? 

E.scal. If any in Vienna be of worth 
To undergo such ample grace and honor. 
It is Lord Angelo. 

Duke. Look where he comes. 

Enter Angelo. 

An;/. Always obedient to your grace's will, 
I come to know your pleasure. 

Duke. Angelo, 

There is a kind of character in tJiy life, 
That to the observer doth thy history 
Fully unfold. Thyself and thy belongings oO 
Are not thine own so proper as to waste 
Thyself ui)ou thy virtues, they on thee. 
Heaven doth with us as we with torches do. 
Not liglit them for themselves ; for if our vir- 
tues 
Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike 
As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely 

touch'd 
Hut to fine issues, nor Nature never lends 
The suiallest scruple of her excellence 
l>ut, like a thrifty goddess, she determines 
Herself the glory of a creditor, 40 

Both thanks and use. But I do bend my speech 
To one that can my part in him advertise ; 
Hold therefore, Angelo : — 
In our remove be thou at full ourself ; 
Mortality and mercy in Vienna 
Live in thy tongue and heart : old Escalus, 
Though first in question, is thy secondary. 
T;ike thy commission. 

.in;/. Now, good my lord. 

Let there be some more test made of my metal. 
Before so noble and so great a figure 60 

Be jtamp'd upon it. 



Duke. No more evasiim : 

We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice 
Proceeded to you ; therefore take your Juniors- 
Our haste from hence is of so quick condition 
That it prefers itself and leaves unquestiou'd 
Matters of needful value. We shall write to you, 
As time and our c<jncernings shall importune, 
How it goes with us, aud do look to know 
What doth befall you here. So, fare you well: 
To the liopeful execution do I leave you GO 
Of your commissions. 

A)i(/. Yet give leave, my lord. 

That we may bring you something on the way. 

Duke. My haste may not admit it ; 
Nor need you, on mine honor, have to do 
With any scruple ; your scope is as mine own 
So to enforce or qualify the laws 
.\s to your soul seems good. Give me your 

hand : 
I'll privily away. I love the people. 
But do not like to stage me to tlieir eyes •. 
Tliongh it do well, I do not relish well 70 

Their loud applause and Aves vehement ; 
Nor do I think tlie man of safe discretion 
That does affect it. Once more, fare you well. 

An<j. Tlie heavens give safety to your pur- 
poses ! 

Escal. Lead forth and bring you back in 
happiness ! 

Duke. I thank you. Fare you well. [Exit. 

Esc(d. I shall desire you, sir, to give me 
leave [t-erns me 

To have free speech with you ; and it cou- 
To look into the bottom of niy place : 
A power I have, but of what strength and 
nature 80 

I am not yet instructed. 

Ah;/. 'Tis so with me. Let us withdraw 
together, 
Aud we may soon our satisfaction have 
Touching that jioint. 

Escal. I'll wait upon your honor. [Exeunt. 

ScENK II. A street. 
Enter Lucio and iico Gentlemen. 

Lucio. If the duke with the other dukes 
come not to composition with the King of Hun- 
gary, why then all the dukes fall upon the king. 

/7r.s< tient. Heaven grant us its peace, but 
not the King of Hungary's ! 

Sec. Gent. Amen. 

Lucio. Thou concludest like the sanctimo- 
nious pirate, that went to sea with the Ten 
Commandments, but scraped one out of the 
table. 

Sec. Gent. ' Thou shalt not steal ' ? 10 

Lucio. Ay, that he razed. 

First Gent. Why, 'twas a commandment to 
command the captiiin and all the rest from 
their functions : they jmt forth to steal. There's 
not a soldier of us all, tluit, in the thanksgiving 
befoie meat, do relish the petition well that 
prays for peace. 

(Sfec. Gent. I never heard any soldier disliko 



ns 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



[Act I. 



Lucio. I believe thee ; for I think thou 
never wast wliere grace was said. 20 

Sec. Gent. No ? a dozen times at least. 

First Gent. What, in metre ? 

Lucio. In any proportion or in any language. 

First Gent. I thinly, or in any religion. 

Lucio. Ay, why not ? Grace is grace, de- 
spite of all controversy: as, for example, thou 
thyself art a wicked villain, despite of all grace. 

First Gent. Well, there went but a pair of 
shears between us. 

Lucio. I grant ; as there may between the 
lists and the velvet. Thou art the list. 31 

First Gent. And thou the velvet : thou art 
good velvet ; thou'rt a three-piled piece, I war- 
rant thee : I had as lief be a list of an English 
kersey as be piled, as thou art piled, for a 
French velvet. Do I speak feeliugly now ? 

Lucio. 1 think thou dost ; and, indeed, with 
most painful feeling of thy speech : I will, out 
of thine own confession, learn to b^in thy 
health ; but, whilst I live, forget to drink after 
thee. 40 

First Gent. I think I have done myself 
wrong, have I not ? 

.Sec. Gent. Yes, that thou hast, whether 
thou art tainted or free. 

Lucio. Behold, behold, where Madam 
Mitigation comes ! I have purchased as many 
diseases under her roof as come to — 

Sec. Gent. To what, I pray ? 

Lucio. Judge. 

Sec. Gent. To three thousand dolors a year. 

First Gent. Ay, and more. 51 

Lucio. A Frencli crown more. 

First Gent. Thou art always figuring 
diseases in me ; but thou art full of error ; I 
am sound. 

Lvcio. Naj% not as one would say, healthy ; 
but so sound as things that are hollow : thy 
bones are hollow ; impiety has made a feast of 
thee. 

Enter Mistress Overdone. 

First Gent. How now ! which of your hips 
has the most jirofound sciatica ? 

Mr.<>. Ov. Well, well ; there's one yonder ar- 
rested and carried to prison was worth five 
thousand of you all. 

Sec. Gent. Who's that, I pray thee ? 

Mrs. Ov. Marry, sir, that's Claudio, Signior 
Claudio. 

First Gent. Claudio to prison ? 'tis not so. 

Mrs. Or. Nay, but I know 'tis so : I saw 
him arrested, saw him carried away ; and, 
which is more, within these three days his 
head to be cliopjied off. 70 

Lucio. But, after all this fooling, I would 
not liave it so. Art thou sure of this ? 

Mrs. Or. 1 am too sure of it : and it is for 
getting Madam Julietta with child. 

Lucio. Believe me, this may be : he prom- 
ised to meet me two hours since, and he was 
ever precise in promise-keeping. 

Sec. Gent. Besides, you know, it draws some- 
ttiiug near to the speech we had to such a pur- 



First Gent. But, most of all, agreeing with 
the proclamation. 81 

Lucio. Away ! let's go learn the truth of it. 
[Exeunt Lucio and Gentlemen. 

Mrs. Ov. Thus, what with the war, Avhat 
with the sweat, what with the gallows and 
what with poverty, I am custom-shrunk. 

Enter Pompev. 
How now ! what's the news with you ? 

Pom. Yonder man is carried to prison. 

Mrs. Ov. Well ; what has he done ? 

Pom. A woman. 

Mrs. Ov. But what's his offence V 90 

Pom. Groping for trouts in a peculiar river. 

Mrs. Ov. What, is there a maid with child 
by him ? 

Pom. No, but there's a woman with nuiid 
by him. You have not heard of the proclama- 
tion, have you ? 

Mrs. Or. What proclamation, man ? 

Pom. All houses in the suburbs of Vienna 
must be plucked down. 

Mrs. Or. And what shall become of those 
in the city ? 101 

Pom. They shall stand for seed : they had 
gone down too, but that a wise burgher put in 
for them. 

Mrs. Ov. But shall all our houses of resort 
in the suburbs be pulled down ? 

Pom. To the ground, mistress. 

Mrs. Ov. Why, here's a change indeed in the 
commonwealth ! What shall become of me ? 

Pom. Come ; fear you not : good counsel- 
lors lack no clients : though you change your 
place, you need not change your trade ; I'll be 
your tapster still. Courage ! there will be pity 
taken on you : you that have worn your eyes 
almost out in the service, you will be consid- 
ered. 

Mrs. Or. What's to do here, Thomas tap- 
ster ? let's withdraw. 

Pom. Here comes Signior Claudio, led by 

the provost to prison ; and there's Madam 

Juliet. [E.reunt. 

Enter Provost, Claudio, Juliet, and 

Officers. 

Claud. Fellow, why dost thou show me 
thus to the world ? 120 

Bear me to prison, where I am conjmitted. 

Prov. I do it not in evil disposition, 
But from Lord Angelo by special charge. 

Claud. Thus can the demigod Authority 

Make us pay down for our ofi'ence by weight 

The words of heaven ; on whom it will, it will; 

On whom it will not, so ; yet .still 'tis just. 

Re-enter Lucio and two Gentlemen. 

Lucio. Why, how now, Claudio ! whence 
comes this restraint ? 

Claud. From too much liberty, my Lucio, 
liberty : 
As surfeit is the father of much fast, 150 

So every scope by the immoderate use 
Turns to restraint. Our natures do pursue, 
< Like rats that ravin down their proper bane^ 



SCENK III.] 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



719 



A thirsty evil ; and when we drink we die. 

Lucio. If I could speak so wisely under an 
arrest, I would send lor certain of my credit- 
ors : and yet, to say the truth, I had as lief 
have the foppery of freedom as the morality 
of imprisonment. What's thv offence, Clau- 
dio ? 

Claud. What but to speak of would offend 
again. 140 

Liicio. What, is't murder? 

Claud. No. 

Lucio. Lechery '.' 

Claud. Call it so. 

Prvr. Away, sir ! you must go. 

Claud. One word, good friend. Lucio, a 
word with you. 

Lucio. A hunlired, if they'll do you any 



Is lechery so look'd after ? 

Claud. Thus stands it with me : upon a 
true contract 
I got possession of Julietta's bed : 150 

You know the lady ; she is fast my wife, 
Save that we do the denunciation lack 
Of outward order : this we came not to, 
Only for propagation of a dower 
Remaining in the coffer of her friends, 
From whom we thought it meet to hide our 

love 
Till time liad made them for us. But it chances 
The stealth of our most mutual eutertainment 
With character too gross is writ on Juliet. 
Lucio. With child, perhaps ? 
Claud. Unhappily, even so. 160 

And the new deputy now for the duke — 
Wliether it be the fault and glimpse of new- 
ness. 
Or whether that the body public be 
A liorse whereon the governor doth ride, 
Who, newly in the seat, that it may know 
He can command, lets it straight feel the spur; 
Whether the tyraiuiy be in his place, 
Or in his eminence that fills it up, 
I sttigger in : — but this new governor 
AAvakes me all the enrolled penalties 170 

Which have, like unscour'd armor, hung by 

the wall 
So long that nineteen zodiacs have gone round 
And none of tliem been worn ; and, for a name. 
Now puts the drowsy and neglected act 
Freshly on me : 'tis surely for a name. 

Lucio. I warrant it is : and thy head stands 
so tickle on thy shoulders that a milkmaid, if 
she be in love, may sigh it off. Send after the 
duke and appeal to him. 

Claud. I have done so, but he's not to be 
found. 180 

I prithee, Lucio, do me this kind service : 
This day my sister should the cloister enter 
And there receive her approbation : 
Acquaint her with the danger of ray state : 
Implore her, in my voice, that she make 

friends 
To the strict deputy ; bid herself assay him : 
1 have great hope in that ; for in her j'outh 
There is a prone and speechless dialect. 



Such as move men ; beside, she hath prosper- 
ous art 
When she will play with reason and discourse, 
And well she can persuade. 191 

Lucio. I pray she may ; as well for the 
encouragement of tlie like, which else would 
stand under grievous imposition, as for the 
enjoying of thy life, who 1 would be sorry 
should be thus foolishly lost at a game of tick- 
tack, ru to her. 

Claud. I thank you, good friend Lucio. 

Lucio. Within two hours. 

Claud. Come, oflBcer, away! 

{Exeunt. 

Scene IIL A monastery. 
Enter Duke and Friar Thomas. 

Duke. No, holy father ; throw away that 

thought ; 
Believe not that the dribbling dart of love 
Can pierce a complete bosom, WJiy I desire 

thee 
To give me secret harbor, hath a purpose 
More grave and wrinkled than the aims and 

ends 
Of burning youth. 
Fri. T. May your grace speak of it : 

Duke. My holy sir, none better knows than 

you 
How I have ever loved the life removed 
And held in idle price to haunt assemblies 
Where youth, and cost, and witless bravery 

keeps. 10 

I havedeliver'd to Lord Augelo, 
A man of stricture and firm abstinence, 
My absolute power and place here in Vienna, 
And he supposes me travell'd to Poland ; 
For so I have strew'd it in the common ear, 
And so it is received. Now, pious sir, 
You will demand of me why I do this ? 
Fri. T. Gladly, my lord.' 
Duke. We have strict statutes and most 

biting laws, 
The needful bits and curbs to headstrong 

weeds, 20 

Which for this nineteen years we liave let slip ; 
Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave. 
That goes not out to prey. Now, as fond 

fathers. 
Having bound up the threatening twigs of 

birch, 
Only to stick it in their children's sight 
For terror, not to use, in time the rod 
Becomes more mock'd than fear'd ; so our 

decrees, 
Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead ; 
And liberty plucks justice by tlie nose ; 
The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart 
Goes all decorum. 31 

Fri. T. It rested in your grace 

To unloose this tied-up justice when you 

pleased : 
And it in you more dreadful would haye 

seem'ii 
Than in Lord Angel* 



720 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



[Act I. 



Duke. I do fear, too dreadful : 

Sitli 'twas' my fault to s've the people seoiie, 
'Twoiild be my tyranny to strike and gall them 
For what I bid them do : for we bid this be 

done, 
When evil deeds have their permissive pass 
And not the punishment. Therefore indeed, 

my father, 
I have on Angelo imposed the office ; 40 

Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike 

home, 
tAnd yet my nature never in the fight 
To do in slander. And to behold his sway, 
I will, as 'twere a brother of your order. 
Visit both prince and people : therefore, I pri- 
thee, 
Supply me with the habit and instruct me 
How 1 may formally in person bear me 
Like a true friar. More reasons for this action 
At our more leisure shall I render you ; 
Only, this one : Lord Angelo is precise ; 50 
Stands at a guard with envy ; scarce confesses 
That his blood flows, or that his appetite 
Is more to bread than stone : hence shall we 

see. 
If power change purpose, what our seemers be. 

\^Exeunt. 

Scene IV. A mmnery. 
Enter Isabella and Fkancisca. 
hab. And have you nuns no farther priv- 
ileges ? 
Fran. Are not these large enough ? 
Isah. Yes, truly ; I speak not as desiring 
more ; 
But rather Avishing a more strict restraint 
Upon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint 
Clare. 
Lucio. [ Within] Ho ! Peace be in this place ! 
Isab. Who's that which calls ? 

Fran. It is a man's voice. Gentle Isabella, 
Turn you the key, and know his business of 

him ; 
You may, I may not ; you are yet unsworn. 
When you have vow'd, you must not speak 
with men 10 

But in the presence of the prioress : 
Then, if you speak, you mu.st not show your 

face, 
Oi', if you show your lace, you must not speak. 
He calls again ; I pray you, answer him. [E.cit. 
Isab. Peace and prosperity ! Who is't that 
calls ? 

Enter Lucio. 
Lucio. Hail, virgin, if you be, as those 
cheek-roses 
Proclaim you are no less ! Can you so stead 

me 
As bring me to the sight of Isabella, 
A novice of this place and the fair sister 
To her unhappy brother Claudio ? '20 

Isab. Why ' her unhappy brother' ? let me 
ask. 
The rather for I now must make you know 
I am that Isabella and his sister. 



Lucio. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly 
greets you : 
Not tobe weary with you, he's iu prison. 

Isab. Woe me ! for what ? 

Lucio. For that which, if myself might be 
his judge. 
He should receive his punishment in thanks : 
He hath got his friend with cliild. 

Lsab. Sir, make me not your story. 

Lucio. It is true. 30 

I would not — though 'tis my familiar sin 
Witli maids to seem the lapwing and to jest, 
Tongue far from heart — play with all virgins 

so : 
I hold you as a thing ensky'd and sainted. 
By your renouncement an immortal spirit. 
And to be talk'd with iu sincerity, 
As with a saint. 

Isab. You do blaspheme the good in mock- 
ing me. 

Lacio. Do not believe it. Fewness and 
truth, 'tis thus : 
Your brother and his lover have embraced : 
As those that feed grow full, as blossoming 
time 41 

That from the seedness the bare fallow brings 
To teeming foison, even so her plenteous womb 
E.xpresseth his full tilth and husbandry. 

Isab. Some one with child by him ? My 
cousin Juliet? 

Lucio. Is she your cousin ? 

Isab. Adoptedly ; as school-maids change 
their names 
By vain though apt affection. 

Lucio. She it is. 

Isab. 0, let him marry her. 

Lucio. This is the point. 

The duke is very strangely gone from hence ; 
Bore many gentlemen, myself being one, 51 
In hand and hope of action : but we do learn 
By those that know the very nerves of state, 
His givings-out were of an infinite distance 
From his true-meant design. Upon his place, 
And with full line of his authority. 
Governs Lord Angela ; a man whose blood 
Is very snow-broth ; one who never feels 
The wanton stings and motions of the sense, 
But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge 60 
With profits of the mind, study and fast. 
He— to give fear to use and liberty. 
Which have for long run by the hideous law, 
As mice by lions — hath pick'd out an act. 
Under whose heavy sense your brother's life 
Falls into forfeit : he arrests him on it ; 
And follows close the rigor of the statute. 
To make him an example. All hope is gone, 
Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer 
To soften Angelo : and that's my ])ith of bus- 
iness 70 
'Twixt you and your poor brother. 

Isab. Doth he so seek his life ? 

Lucio. ■ Has censured him 

Already ; and, as I hear, the provost hath 
A warrant for his execution. 

Isab. Alas ! what poor ability's in me 
To do him good ? 



Scene i.] 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



Lucio. Assaj' the power jou have. 

Isab. My power ? Alas, I doubt — 

Lncio. Our doubts are traitors 

And make us lose the good we oft might win 
By fearing to atteuiitt. Go to Lord Angelo, 
And let liim learn to know, when maidens sue, 
Men give like gods ; but when they weep and 

kneel, 
All their petitions are as freely theirs 
As tliey tliemselves would owe them. 

Imb. I'll see what I can do. 

Lurio. But speedily. 

hub. I will about it straight ; 
No longer staying but to give the mother 
N'otiieof my affair I humbly thank you: 
Commend me to my brother : soon at night 
I'll send him certain word of my success. 

Lucio. I take my leave of you. 

Isab. Good sir, adieu. i)0 

{Exeunt. 



ACT II. 



Scene I. A hall in Anoelo's house. 

Enter Ancelo, Escalus, and a Justice, Pro- 
vost, Officers, and other Attendants, behind. 

Anrj. We must not make a scarecrow of the 

law, 
Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, 
And let it keep one shape, till custom make it 
Their jierch and not their terror. 

£«•«/. Ay, but yet 

Let us be keen, and rather cut a little, 
Than fall, and bruise to death. Alas, this gen- 
tleman. 
Whom I would save, had a most noble father! 
Let but your honor know, 
Whom I l)elieve to be most strait in virtue, 
X'lat, in the woiking of your own affections, 
Had time cohered with place or place with 

wishing, 11 

Or that the resolute acting of your blood 
Could have attain'd the effect of your own 

purpose, 
Wliether you had not sometime in your life 
Err'd in this point which now you censure 

liim, 
And puU'd the law upon you. 

Ant/. 'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus, 
Another thing to fall. I not deny, 
The jury, passing on the prisoner's life, 
j\Iay in the sworn twelve have a thief or two 
(Juiltier than him they try. What's open made 

to justice, 21 

i'That justice seizes : what know the laws 
Tliat thieves do pass on thieves ? 'Tis very 

jiregnant, 
The jewel that we find, we stoop and take 't 
Because we see it ; but what we do not see 
We trend upon, and never think of it. 
You may not so extenuate his otTence 
for I have had such faults ; but rather tell 

me, 
When I, that censure him, do so offend, 



Let mine own judgment ]>attern out niy deatli. 
And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must 
die. 
Escal. Be it as your wisdom will. 
Anij. Where is the provost ? 

Prov. Here, if it like your lK)nor. 
An;/. See that Claudio 

Be executed by nine to-morrow morning : 
Bring him his confessor, let him be i)repared ; 
For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage. 

[ExAt Provost. 
Escal. [Aside] Well, heave:: forgive him ! 
and forgive us all ! 
Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall : 
fSome run from brakes of ice, and answer 

none : 
And some condemned for a fault alone. 40 

Enter Elbow, and Officers ivith Fkoth and 

POMPEY. 

Elb. Come, bring them away : if these be 
good people in a commonweal that do nothing 
but use their abuses in common houses, I kuow 
no law : bring them away. 

An.;/. How now, sir ! What's your name ? 
and what's the matter ? 

Elb. If it jjlease your honor, I am the poor 
duke's constable, and my name is Elbow : I do 
lean upon justice, sir, and do bring in here 
before your good honor two notorious benefac- 
tors. 50 

Anij. Benefactors? AVell ; what benefac- 
tors are they ? are they not malefactors ? 

Elb. If it please your honor, I know not 
well what they are : but ]n-ecise villains they 
are, that I am sure of ; and void of all jirofa- 
nation in the world that good Christians ought 
to have. 

Escal. This comes off well ; here's a wise 
officer. 

Anr/. Go to: what quality are they of? 
Elbow is your name ? why dost thou not speak. 
Elbow ? 60 

Pom. He cannot, sir ; he's out at elbow. 

Anr/. What are you, sir ? 

Elb. He, sir ! a" tapster, sir ; parcel-bawd ; 
one that serves a bad woman ; wliose house, 
sir, was, as they say, plucked down in the 
suburbs ; and now she professes a hot-house, 
which, I think, is a very ill house too. 

Escal. How know you that ? 

Elb. My wife, sir, whom I detest before 
heaven and your honor, — 70 

Escal. How ? thy wife ? 

Elb. Ay, sir ; whom, I thank heaven, is 
an hone.st woman, — 

Escal. Dost thou detest her therefore ? 

Elb. I say, sir, 1 will detest myself also, as 
well as she, that this house, if it be not a 
bawd's house, it is pity of her life, for it is 
a naughty house. 

Eiii-al. How dost thou know that, constable '! 

Elb. Marry, sir, by my wife ; who, if she 
had been a woman caidinally given, might 
have been accused in fornication, adultery, 
and all uucleauliuess there. 
48 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



fAcT ir. 



Escul. By tlie woman's means ? 

Eib. Ay, sir, by Mistress Overdone's 
means : but as she spit la his face, so she de- 
fied him. 

Pom. Sir, if it i^lease your honor, this is 
not so. 

Elb. Prove it before these varlets here, 
thou honorable man ; i^rove it. 

Escal. Do you hear how he misphices ? 90 

Pom. Sir, she came in great with child ; and 
longing, saving your honor's reverence, for 
stewed prunes ; sir, we had but two in the 
Jiouse, which at that very distant time stood, 
as it were, in a fruit-dish, a dish of some 
three-pence ; your honors have seen such 
dishes ; they are not China dishes, but very 
good dishes, — [sir. 

Escal. Go to, go to : no matter for the disli. 

Pom. No, indeed, sir, not of a pin ; you 
are therein in the right : but to the point. As 
I .say, tliis Mistress Elbow, being, as I say, 
with child, and being great-bellied, and long- 
ing, as I said, for prunes ; and having but two 
in the dish, as I said. Master Froth here, this 
very man, having eaten the rest, as I 
said, and, a.s I say, paying for them very 
lionestiy ; for, as you know, Master Froth, 
I could not give you three-pence again. 

Froth. No, indeed. 

Pom. Very well ; you being then, if you 
be remembered, cracking the stones of the 
foresaid prunes, — 111 

Froth. Ay, so I did indeed. 

Pom. Why, very well ; I telling you then, 
if you be remembered, that such a one and 
such a one were past cure of the thing you 
wot of, unless they kept very good diet, as I 
told you, — 

Froth. All this is true. 

Pom. Why, very well, then, — 

Escal. Come, you are a tedious fool : to 
the purpose. What was done to Elbow's 
wife, that he liatli cause to complaiu of ? 
Come me to what was done to her. 

Pom. Sir, your honor caiinot come to that 
yet. 

Escal. No, sir, nor I mean it not. 

Pom. Sir, but you shall come to it, by 
your honor's leave. And, I beseech you, look 
into Master Froth here, sir ; a man of four- 
score pound a year ; Avhose father died at 
Hallowmas : was't not at Hallowmas, Master 
Froth ? 

Froth. AU-hallond eve. 130 

Pom. Why, very well ; I hope here be 
truths. He, sir, sitting, as I say, in a lower 
chair, sir ; 'twas in the Bunch of Grapes, 
where indeed you have a delight to sit, have 
you not ? 

Froth. I have so ; because it is au open 
room and good for winter. 

Pom.. Why, very well, then ; I hope here 
be truths. 

Aug. This will last out a night in Russia, 
When nights are longest there : I'll take my 
leave, 140 



And leave you to the hearing of the cause ; 
Hoping you'll find good cause to whip them 
all. 

Escal. I think no less. Good morrow to 
your lordship. [Exit Amjelo. 

Now, sir, come on : what was done to Elbow's 
wife, once more ? 

Pom. Once, sir ? there was nothing done 
to her once. 

Elh. I beseech you, sir, ask him what this 
ma'i did to my wife. 

Pom. I beseech your honor, ask me. 150 

Escal. Well, sir ; what did this gentleman 
to her ? 

Pom. I beseech you, sir, look in this gen- 
tleman's face. Good Master Froth, look upon 
his honor ; 'tis for a good purpose. Doth 
your honor mark his face ? 

Escal ky, sir, very well. 

Pom. Nay, I beseech you, mark it well. 

E.ical Well, I do so. 

Pom. Doth your honor see any harm in 
Ills face ? 160 

Escal. Why, no. 

Po??i. I'll be supposed upon a book, his 
face is tlie worst thing about him. Good, 
then ; if his face be the worst thing about 
him, how could Master Froth do the con- 
stable's wife any harm ? I would know that 
of your honor. 

Escal. He's in the right. Constable, what 
say you to it ? 

Elb. First, au it like you, the house is a re- 
spected house ; next, this is a respected fel- 
low ; and his mistress is a respected woman. 

Pom. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more 
respected person than any of us all. 

Elb. Varlet, thou liest ; thou liest, wicked 
varlet ! tlie time has yet to come that she 
Avas ever respected with man, woman, or child. 

Pom. Sir, she was respected with him b^ 
fore he married with her. 

Escal. Which is the wiser here ? Justice 
or Iniquity ? Is this true ? Kl 

Elb. O thou caitiff! O thou varlet ! O thou 
wicked Hannibal ! I respected with her be- 
fore I was married to her ! If ever I was re- 
spected with lier, or she with me, let not your 
Avorship think me the poor duke's oflticer. 
Prove this, thou wicked Hannibal, or I'll have 
mine .action of battery on thee. 

Escal. If he took you a box o' the ear, 
you might have your action of slander too. IIK) 

Elb. Marry, I thanlc your good worship for 
it. What is't your worship's pleasure I shall 
do with this wicked caitiff ? 

Escal. Truly, officer, because he hath some 
offences in him that thou wouldst discover if 
thou couldst, let him continue in his courses 
till thou kuowest what they are. 

Elb. Marry, I thank your worship for it. 
Thou seest, thou wicked varlet, now, what's 
come upon tliee : thou art to continue now. 
thou varlet ; thou art to continue. 20i 

EscaU Where were you born, friend ? 

Froth' Here iu Viemia, sir. 



Scene ii.] 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



723 



Escal. Are you of fourscore pounds a 
year ? 

Froth. Yes, an't i)lease you, sir. 

Escal. So. What trade are you of, sir ? 

Pom. A tiipster ; a ])oor widow's tapster. 

Escal. Your mistress' name? 

Pom. Mistress Overdone. 

Escal. Hath she liad any more than one 
husband? 211 

Pom. Nine, sir ; Overdone liy the last. 

Escal. Nine ! Come liithcr to me, Master 
Froth. Master Frotli, I would not liave you 
acquainted with tapsters : they will draw you. 
Master Froth, ;ind you will hang them, (iet 
you gone, and let me hear no more of you. 

Froth. I thank your worship. For mine 
own part, I never come into any room in a 
tap-lu3use, but 1 am drawn in. 220 

Escal. AVell, no more of it. Master Frotli : 
farewell. [Ei-it Froth.] Come you hither to 
me. Master tapster. What's your name, 
Master tjipster ? 

Pom. Fom])ev. 

Escal. What else ? 

Pom. Bum, sir. 

Escal. Trotli, and your bum is the greatest 
thing about you ; so that in the beastliest 
sense you are Pompey the (ireat. Ponipey, 
you are partly a bawd, Pompey, howsoever 
you color it in being a tapster, are you not ? 
come, tell me true : it shall be the better for 
you. ^ 

Pom.. Truly, sir, I am a 'poor fellow that 
would live. 

Escal. How would you live, Pompey ? by 
behig a bawd ? What do you think of the 
trade, Poinpey ? is it a lawful trade ? 

Pom. If the law would allow it, sir. 

Escal. But the law will not allow it, Pom- 
pey ; nor it sluill not be allowed in Vienna. 241 

Po»i. Does your wor.«hi)) mean to geld and 
splay all the youth of the city ? 

Escal. No, Pompey. 

Pom. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they 
will to't then. If your worship will take or- 
der for the drabs and the knaves, you need 
not to fear the bawds. 

Escal. There are i)retty orders beginning, I 
can tell you : it is but heading and hanging. 

Pom. If you liead and liang all that oflend 
that way but for ten year together, you'll be 
glad to give out a counnission tor more heads : 
if this law hold in Vienna ten year, I'll rent 
the fairest house in it after three-pence a bay: 
if you live to see this come to pass, say Poni- 
pey told you so. 

Escal. Tliank you, good Pompey ; and, in 
requital of your prophecy, hark you : I advise 
you, let me not find you before me again upon 
any complaint whatsoever ; no, not for dwell- 
ing where you do : if I do, Pomi)ey, I shall 
beat you to your tent, and prove a shrewd 
Csesjir to you ; in plain dealing, Pompey, I 
pliall have you whipt : so, for this time, Pom- 
pey, fare you well. 

fom. i thauk your worsliii) for j^our good 



counsel : [Aside'] but I shall follow it as the 
flesh and fortune shall better determine. 
Whip me ? No, no ; let carman whip liis jade; 
The valiant heart is not whipt out of his trade. 

[Ej-it. 270 

Escal. Come hither to mo. Master Elbow ; 
come hither, Master «:onstable. How long 
have you been in this place of constable ? 

Elb. Seven year and a half, sir. 

Escal. I thought, by your readiness in the 
office, you had continued in it .some time. You 
say, seven years together ? 

Elb. .\nd a half, sir. 

Escal. Alas, it liatli been great pains to you. 
They do you wrong to i>ut you so oft upon 't : 
are there not men in your ward sufficient to 
serve it ? 

Elb. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such 
matters : as they are diosen, tliey are glad to 
choose me for them ; I do it for some piece of 
money, and go through with all. 

Escal. Look you bring me in the names of 
some six or seven, the most sufficient of your 
parish. 

Elb. To your worship's house, sir ? 

E.scal. To my house. Fare you well. 

[E3-il Elbow. 
What's o'clock, think you ? 280 

Just. Eleven, sir. 

Escal. I pray you home to dinner with me. 

Just. I humbly thank you. 

Escal. It grieves me for the death of 
Claudio ; 
But there's no remedy. 

Just. Lord Angelo is severe. 

Escal. It is but needful : 

Jlercy is not itself, that oft looks so ; 
Pardon is still the nurse of second woe : 
But yet. — poor Claudio ! There is no remedy. 
Come, sir. [Excunl. 2{X) 

ScKNE II. Another room in the same. 

Enter Provost and a Servant. 

Scrv. He's hearing of a cause ; he will 
come straiglit : 
I'll tell him of you. 
Pror. Pray you, do. [Exit iiervunt.] 

I'll know 
His pleasure ; maybe lie will relent. Alas, 
He hath but as offended in a dream ! 
-Ml sects, all ages smack of this vice ; and he 
To die for 't ! 

Enter Angelo. 

Ami. Now, what's the matter, jirovost ? 

Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to- 
morrow ? 

Anij. Did not I tell thee yea ? hadst tlior 
not order ? 
Why dost thou ask again ? 

Prov. Lest I might be too rash : 

Under your good correction, 1 have seen, 10 
When, after execution, judgment hath 
Repented o'er his doom. 

Anij. • Go to ; let that be mine : 



724 



MEASURE FOE. MEASURE. 



[Act II. 



Do you your office, or give up your place, 
And you slmll well be spared. 

Proi). I crave your honor's pardon. 

What shall be done, sir, with the groaning 

Juliet? 
She's very near her hour. 

Aiiij. Dispose of her 

To some more litter place, and that witli speed. 

Re-enter Servant. 

Sent. Here is the sister of the man con- 
deuni'd 
Desires access to you. 
Ami. Hath he a sister ? 

Prijv. Ay, my good lord ; a very virtuous 
maid, 20 

And to be shortly of a sisterhood, 
If not already- 
Amj. Well, let her be admitted. 

[Exit Servant. 
See you the fornicatress be removed : 
Let iier have needful, but not lavish, means ; 
There shall be order for't.' 

Enter Isabella and Lucio. 
Prov. God save your honor ! 

Anr/. Stay a little while. [Tolsab.] You're 

welcome : what's your will ? 
/.sa&. I am a woeful suitor to your honor, 
Please but your honor hear me. 
An;/. Well ; what's your suit ? 

ImI). There is a vice that most I do abhor, 
And most desire should meet the blow of jus- 
tice ; 
For which I would not plead, but that I must; 
Foi' wliich F must not plead, but that I am 
At war 'twixt will and will not. 
A mj. Will ; the matter ? 

Isiih. I have a brother is condemn'd to die: 
I do beseech you, let it be his fault. 
And not my brother. 
Prov. [Aside] Heaven give thee moving 

graces ! 
Ani/. Condenm the fault and not the actor 
' of it? 
Why, every fault's condemn'd ere it be done : 
Mine were the very cipher of a function. 
To tine the faults whose fine stands in record. 
And let go by the actor. 41 

/••>•'(/). O just but severe law ! 

I had a brother, theu. Heaven keep your 
honor ! 
Lucio. [Aside to Isab.] Give't not o'er so : 
to him again, entreat him ; 
Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown: 
You are too cold ; if you should need a pin, 
You could not with more tame a tongue desire 

it : 
To him, I say ! 
I.'iah. Must he needs die ? 
An;/. Maiden, no remedy. 

Isab. Yes ; I do think that you might par- 
don him. 
And neither heaven nor man grieve at the 
mercy. 
Any. I will not io\ 



Isab. But can yea if you would ? 51 

Ang. Look, what I will not, that I cannot 

do. 
Isab. But might you do't, and do the world 
no wrong, 
H so your heart were touch'd with that re- 
morse 
As mine is to him ? 
An;/. He's sentenced ; 'tis too late. 

Lucio. [Aside to Isab.] Yon are too cold. 
Isab. Too late ? wliy, no ; I, that do speak 
a word. 
May call it back .again. Well, believe this. 
No ceremony that to great ones 'longs, 
* Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, 
The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's 
robe, 61 

Become them with one half so good a grace 
As mercy does. 

If he had been as you and you as he. 
You would have slipt like him ; but he, like 

you. 
Would not have been so stern. 
Anc/. Pray you, be gone. 

Isab. I would to heaven I had your po- 
tency, 
And you were Isabel ! should it then be thus ? 
No ; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge. 
And what a prisoner. 
Lucio. [Aside to Itab.] Ay, touch him ; 
there's the vein. 70 

Any. Your brother is a forfeit of the Jaw, 
And you but waste your words. 

Isab. Alas, alas ! 

Why, all the souls that were were forfeit 

once ; 
And He that might the vantage best have 

took 
Found out the remedy. How would you be, 
If He, which is the top of judgment, should 
But judge you as you are ? O, think on 

that ; 
And mercy then will breathe within your lips, 
Like man new made. 

Any. Be you content, fair maid ; 

It is the law, not I condemn your brother : 80 
AVere he my kinsman, brother, or my son, 
It should be thus with him : he must die to- 
morrow. 
Isab. To-morrow ! O, that's sudden ! Si)are 
him, spare him ! 
He's not prepared for death. Even for our 

kitchens 
We kill the fowl of season : shall we serve 

heaven 
With less respect than we do minister 
To our gross selves ? Good, good my lord, 

bethink you ; 
Who is it that hath died for this offence ? 
There's many have committed it. 
Lucio. [Aside to Isab.] Ay, well saia. 

Am/. The law hath not been dead, though 
' it hath slept : ilO 

Those many liad not dared to do that evil. 
If the fir.it that did the edict infi-inge 

Had aoswer'd for his deed : uow 'tis awake 



Scene ii.] 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



72ft 



Tiikes note of wliiit is done ; and, like a 

prophet, 
Looks in ;i glass, tliat sliows wliat future evils. 
Either new, or by remissness uew-conceived. 
And so in progress to be hatch'd and born, 
Are now to have no successive degrees, 
But, ere they live, to end. 
laab. ' Yet show some pity. 

Any. I show it most of all when I show 
justice ; 100 

For then I pity those I do not know. 
Which adisniiss'd offence would after gall ; 
And do him right that, answering one foul 

wrong. 
Lives not to act another. Be satisfied ; 
Your brother dies to-morrow ; be content. 
Isah. So you must be the first that gives 
this sentence. 
And he, that suffers. 0, it is excellent 
To have a giant's strength ; but it is tyran- 
nous 
To use it like a giant. 
Liirio. [Aside to Isab.] That's well s.aid. 
Isdb. Could great men thunder 110 

As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be 

quiet. 
For every pelting, petty officer 
Would use Ins heaven for thunder ; 
Nothing but thunder ! Merciful Heaven, 
Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous 

bolt 
Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak 
Than the soft myrtle : but man, proud man, 
Drest in a little "brief authority. 
Most ignorant of what he's most assured. 
His glassy essence, like an angry ape, 120 

Plays such fantastic tricks before high hea\en 
As make the angels weep ; who, with our 

spleens. 
Would all themselve.* laugh moitiil. 
rAicio. lAslde to Imb.] O, to him, to him, 
wench ! lie will relent ; 
He's coming ; I perceive 't. 
Prov. [Aside] Pray heaven she win him ! 
Isab. We cannot weigh our brother with 
our. -self : 
(ireat men may jest with saints ; 'tis wit in 

them. 
But in the less foul profanation. 
Lucio. Thou'rt i' the right, girl ; more o' 

that. 
Isab. That in the captain's but a choleric 
word, l.'iO 

Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. 
Lkci'o. [Asidfi to Isab.] Art avised o' that ? 

more on 't. 
Aug. Why do you put these sayings upon 

' me ? ■ 

Isab. Because authority, though it err like 
others, 
Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself. 
That skins the vice o' the top Go to your 

bosom ; 
Knock there, and ask your heart what it 

doth know 
That's like my brother's fault : if it confess 



A natural guiltiness such as is his, 

Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue 

Against my brother's life. 

Aiif/. [Aside.] She speaks, and 'tis 

Such sense, that my sense breeds with it. Far* 
you well. 
I.'sab. Gentle my lord, turn back. 
Aiif/. I will bethink mo : come again to- 
morrow. 
Isab. Hark how Fll bribe you : good my 

lord, turn back. 
Ajig. How ! bribe me ? 
Isab. Ay, with such gifts that lieaven shall 

share with you. 
Lucio. [Aside to Lmb.] You had marr'd all 

else. 
Isab. Not with fond shekels of the tested 
gold. 
Or stones whose rates are either rich or poor 
As fancy values them ; but with true i)rayers 
That .shall be up at heaven and enter there 
Ere sun-rise, prayers froui preserved .souls. 
From fasting maids whose minds are dedicate 
To nothing temiwral. 
Aug. Well ; come to me to-morrow. 

Lucio. [Aside to Is((b.] Go to ; 'tis well ; 

away I 
Isab. Heaven keep your honor .safe ! 
Ang. [Aside] Amen : 

For I am that way going to temptation, 
Where prayers cross. 

Isab. At what honr to-morrow 

Shall I attend your lordship ? 

Ang. At any time 'fore noon. 160 

Isab. 'Save your honor ! 

[Exeunt Isabella, Lucio, and Provost, 

Ang. From thee, even from thy virtue j 

What's this, what's this ? Is this her fault or 

mine ? 
The temjjter or the tempted, who sins most ? 
Ha ! 

Not she : nor doth she teini>t : but it is I 
That, lying by the violet in the sun, 
Do as the carrion does, not as the flower. 
Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be 
That modesty may mort; betray our sense 
Than woman's lightness ? Having waste 
ground enough, 170 

Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary 
And pitch our evils there ? O, fie, "fie, fie ! 
What do.st thou, or what art thou, Angelo ? 
Dost thou desire her foully iov those things 
That make her good ? 0, let her brother 

live ! 
Thieves for their robbery have authority 
When judges steal themselves. What, do 1 

love her, 
Tliat I desire to hear her speak again, 
And feast upon her eves ? What is't I dream 

on ? ' 

O cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint, 180 
With saints dost bait thy hook ! Most dac- 

gerous 
Is that temptation that doth goad ns on 
To sin in loving virtue : never could the 
strumpet, 



720 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



[Act il 



With all her double vigor, art and nature, 
Once stir my temper ; but this virtuous maid 
Subdues me quite. Ever till now, 
When men were fond, I smiled and wonder'd 
how. \_Exil. 

Scene III. A room in a prison. 

Enter, severally, Duke disgtdsed as a friar, 
and Provost. 

Duke. Hail to you, provost ! so I think you 

are. 
Prov. I am the provost. What's your will, 

good friar ? 
Duke. Bound by vay charitv and my blest 
order, 
I come to visit the afflicted spirits 
Here in the prison. Do me the common right 
To let me see them and to make me know 
The nature of their crimes, that I may minister 
To them accordingly. 
Prov. I would do more than that, if more 
were ueedf al. 

Enter Juliet. 

Look, here comes one : a gentlewoman of 
mine, ' 10 

Who, falling in the flaws of her own youth, 
Hath blister'd her report : she is with child ; 
And he that got it, sentenced ; a young man 
More lit to do another such offence 
Than die for this. 
Duke. When must he die ? 
Proi). . As I do think, to-morrow. 

I have provided for you : stay awhile, 

[To Juliet. 
And you shall be conducted. 
Duke. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you 

carry ? 
Jul. I (io ; and bear the shame most pa- 
tiently. 20 
Duke. I'll teach you how you shall arraign 
your conscience. 
And try your penitence, if it be sound. 
Or hollowly put on. 
Jid. I'll gladly learn. 
Duke. Love you the man that wrong'd 

you ? 
Jul. Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd 

him. 
Duke. So then it seems your most offence- 
f ul act 
Was mutually committed ? 
Jul. Mutually. 

Duke. Then was your sin of heavier kind 

than his. 
Jul. I do confess it, and repent it, father. 
Duke. 'Tis meet so, daughter : but lest you 
do repent, 30 

As that the sin hath brought you to this 

sliame, 
Which sorrow is always towards ourselves, 

not heaven, 
Sliowing we would not spare heaven as we 

love it. 
But as we stand iu f eac, — 



Jul. I do repent me, as it is an evil. 
And take tlie shame with joy. 

Duke. There rest. 

Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow, 
And I am going with in.struction to him. 
Grace go with you, Benedicite ! [Exit. 

Jul. Must die to-morrow ! O injurious love, 
That respites me a life, whose very comfort 
Is still a dying horror ! 

Prov. 'Tis pity of him. [Exeunt. 

Scene IV. A room in Anoelo's lio-use. 
Enter Anoei.o. 

Anrf. When I would pray and think, I think 
and pray 
To several subjects. Heaven hath my empty 

words ; 
Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue. 
Anchors on Isabel : Heaven in my moutli. 
As if I did but only chew his name ; 
And in my heart the strong and swelling evil 
Of my conception. The state, wliereon I 

studied. 
Is like a good thing, being often read, 
Gi'own fear'd and tedious ; yea, my gravity, 
Wiierein— let no man hear me — I take pride. 
Could I witli boot change for an idle plume, 11 
Which the air beats for vain. O place, O form. 
How often dost tliou with thy case, thy habit. 
Wrench awe from fools and tie the wiser souls 
To thy false seeming ! Blood, thou art blood : 
Let's write good angel on the devil's horn : 
'Tis not the devil's crest. 

Enter a Servant. 

How now ! who's there ? 
Serv. One Isabel, a sister, desires access to 

J'OU. 

Anfi. Teach her the way. [Exit Serv.] O 
heavens ! 
Why does my blood thus muster to my heart, 
Making both it unable for itself, 21 

And dispossessing all my otiier parts 
Of necessary fitne.ss ? 
So play the foolish throngs with one that 

swoons ; 
Come all to help him, and so stop the air 
By wliich he should revive : and even so 
Tlie general, subject to a well-wish'd king. 
Quit their own part, and iu obsequious fond- 
ness 
Crowd to his presence, where their untaught 

love 
Must needs appear offence. 

E)iter Isabella. 

How now, fair maid ? ."0 
I.<iah. 1 am come to know your pleasure. 
Ang. That you might know it, would much 
better please me 
Th.an to demand what 'tis. Your brother can- 
not live. 
J,so6. Even so. Heaven keep your honor ! 
Ang. Yet may he live awhile ; and, it may 
be, 
As long as you or I : yet he must di«. 



Scene iv.] 



MEASrmE POT? MEASUHE. 



m 



Isc.b. Under your sentence ? 

An;/. Yea. 

faab. When, I beseech yon ? that in his re- 
prieve, 
Longer or shorter, he may be so fitted 40 

Tliat his soul sicken not. 

An;/. Ha ! fie, tliese filthy vices ! It were 
as good 
To pai'dou iiim that hath from nature stolen 
A man already made, as to remit 
Their saucy sweetness tliat do coin heaven's 

image 
In stamps that are forbid : 'tis all as easy 
Falsely to take away a life true made 
As to put metal in restrained means 
To make a false one. 

Jsab. 'Tis set down so in heaven, but not 
iu earth. 50 

Aiu/. Say you so? then I shall pose you 
quickly. 
Which liad you rather, that the most just law 
Now took your brother's life ; or, to redeem 

him. 
Give up your body to such sweet uncleanness 
As she that he hath stain'd ? 

Isab. Sir, believe this, 

I had rather give my body tlian my soul. 

Ang. I talk not of your soul : our compell'd 
sins 
Stand more for number than for accompt. 

Isab. How say you ? 

Aruj. Nay, I'll not warrant that ; for I can 
speak 
Against the thing I say. Answer to this : CO 
I, now the voice of the recorded law. 
Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life : 
Miglit there not be a charity iu sin 
To save this brother's life ? 

Isab. Please you to do't, 

I'll take it as a peril to ray soul 
It is no sin at all, but charity. 

An(/. Pleased you to do't at peril of your 
soul. 
Were equal poise of sin and charity. 

Isab. That I do beg his life, if it be sin, 
Heaven let me bear it ! you granting of my 

suit, 
If that be sin, I'll make it my morn prayer 71 
To have it added to the faults of mine, 
And nothing of your answer. 

An;/. Nay, but hear me. 

Your sense pursues not mine : either you are 

ignorant. 
Or seem so craftily ; and that's not good. 

Isab. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing 
good, 
But graciously to know I am no better. 

Ang. Tlius wisdom wLshes to appear most 
bright 
When it doth tax itself ; as these black masks 
Proclaim an enshield beauty ten times louder 
Than beauty could, display'd. But mark me ; 
To be received plain, I'll speak more gross : 
Your brother is to die. 

Isab. So. 

Ang. And his offence is so, as it appears, 



Accountnnt to the law upon that pain. 

Isab. True. 

A7ig. Admit no other way to save his life, — 
As I subscribe not that, nor any other. 
But in the loss of question, — that you, his sis- 
ter, 9<) 
Finding yourself desired of such a person. 
Whose credit witli the judge, or own great 

place. 
Could fetch your brother from the manacles 
Of the all-building law ; and that there were 
No earthly mean to save him, but that either 
You must lay down the treasures of your body 
To this supposed, or else to let him .suffer ; 
What would you do ? 

Isab. As much for my poor brother as my- 
self : 100 
That is, were I under the terms of death, 
The impression of keen whips I'ld wear as 

rubies, 
And strip myself to death, as toa bed 
That longing have been sick for, ere I'M yield 
My body up to shame. 

Ang. Then must your brother die. 

Iscib. And 'twere the cheaper way : 
Better it were a brother died at once, 
Thau that a sister, by redeeming him. 
Should die for ever. 

Ang. Were not you then as cruel as the 
sentence 
That you have slauder'd so ? 11(? 

Isab. Ignomy in ransom and free pardon 
Are of two houses : lawful mercy 
Is nothing kin to foul redemption. 

Ang. You seem'd of late to make the law 
a trj'ant ; 
And rather proved the sliding of j-our brother 
A merriment than a vice. 

Isab. O, pardon me, my lord ; it oft falls 
out, 
To have what we would have, we speak not 

what we mean : 
I sometliing do excuse the tiling I hate. 
For his advantage tliat I dearly love. 120 

Ang. We are all frail. 

Isab. Else let my brother die, 

If not a feodary, but only he 
Owe and succeed thy weakness. 

Aiig. Nay, women are frail too. 

Isab. Ay, as the glasses where they view 
themselves ; 
Which are as easy broke as they make forms. 
Women ! Help Heaven ! men their creation 

mar 
In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times 

frail ; 
For we are soft as our complexions are, 
And credulous to false prints. 

Ang. I thiuk it well : 130 

And from this testimony of your own sex, — 
Since I suppose we are made to be no stronger 
Than faults may shake our frames, — let me 

be bold ; 
I do arrest your words. Be that you are. 
That is, a woman ; if you be more, you're 
none; 



728 



MEASURE f OR MEASURE. 



f Act hi. 



It" you be one, as you are well express'd 

By all external warrants, sliow it now. 

By Dutting on the destined livery. [lord, 

Isab. I iiave no tongue hut one : gentle my 
Let me entreat you speak the former lan- 
guage. 140 

Ang. Plainly conceive, I love you. 

Isab. My brother did love Juliet, 
And you tell me that lie shall die for it. 

Am/, lie shall not, Isabel, if you give me 
' love. 

Isab. I know your virtue hath a license in't, 
Whicli seems a iittle fouler than it is, 
To pluck on otliers. 

Atif/. Believe me, on mine honor. 

My words express my purpose. [lieved, 

Isab. Ha ! little honor to be much be- 
Aud most pernicious purpose ! Seeming, 
seeming ! 150 

I will proclaim thee, Angelo ; look for't : 
Sign me a present pardon for my brother, 
Or with an outstretch'd throat I'll tell the 

world aloud 
What man thou art. 

Ang. Who will believe thee, Isabel ? 

My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life, 
My vouch against you, and my place i' the 

state. 
Will so your accusation overweigh, 
That you shall stifle in your own report 
And smell of calumny." I have begun, 
And now I give my sensual race the rein : 160 
Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite ; 
Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes. 
That banish what they sue for ; redeem thy 

brother 
By yielding up thy body to my will ; 
Or else he must not only die the death. 
But thy unkindness shall his death draw out 
To lingering sufferance. Answer me to-mor- 
row. 
Or, by the affection that now guides me most, 
I'll prove a tyrant to him. As for you. 
Say what you can, my false o'erweighs your 
true. [Exit. 170 

Isab. To whom should I complain ? Did I 
tell this, 
Who would believe me ? O perilous mouths, 
Tliat bear in them one and the self-same 

tongue, 
Either of condenniation or approof ; 
Bidding the law make court sy to their will : 
Hooking both riglit and wrong to the appetite. 
To follow as it draws ! I'll to ray brother : 
Though he hath fallen by prompture of the 

blood, 
Yet hath he in him such a mind of honor, 
That, had he twenty heads to tender down 180 
On twenty bloody blocks, he'ld yield them up, 
Before his sister should her body stoop 
To such abhorr'd pollution. 
Then, Isabel, live cha.ste, and, brother, die : 
More than our brother is our cliastity. 
I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request, 
And fit his mind to death, for his sours rest. 

[Exit. 



ACT III. 
Scene I. A room in the prison. 

Enter Duke disguised as before, Claudio, 
and Provost. 

Duke. So then you hope of pardon from 

Lord Angelo? 
Claud. The miserable have no other medi- 
cine 
But only hope : 

I've hoi)e to live, and am prepared to die. 
Duke. Be absolute for death ; either death 

or life 
Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus 

witlilife : 
If I do lose tliee, I do lose a thing 
That none but fools would keep : a breath thou 

art, 
Servile to all the skyey influences, 9 

That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st. 
Hourly afflict ; merely, thou art death's fool ; 
For him thou labor' st by thy flight to shun 
And yet runn'st toward him still. Thou art 

not noble ; 
For all the accommodations that thou bear'st 
Are nursed by baseness. Thou'rt by no means 

valiant ; 
For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork 
Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep. 
And that tliou oft provokest ; yet grossly 

fear'st 
Thy death, which is iio more. Thou art not 

thyself ; lit 

For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains 
That issue out of dust. Happy thou art not ; 
For what thou hast not, still thou strivest to 

get, 
And what thou hast, forget' st. Thou art not 

certain ; 
For thy complexion shifts to strange effects, 
After the moon. If thou art rich, thou'it 

poor ; 
For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows, 
Thou bear'.st tliy heavy riches but a journey. 
And death unloads thee. Friend hast tliou 

none ; 
For thine own bowels, which do call thee sfre. 
The mere efl'usion of thy proper loins, 30 

Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rlieum, 
For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor 

youth nor age, 
But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep. 
Dreaming on both ; for all thy blessed youtli 
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms 
Of palsied eld ; and when thou art old and 

rich. 
Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor 

beauty, 
To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in 

this 
That bears the name of life ? Yet in this life 
Lie hid moe thousand deaths : yet death we 

fear, 
Tliat makes these odds all even. 41 

Claud. I humbly tbauk you. 



Scene 1.] 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



729 



To sue to live, I find I seek to die ; 
Aiul, seeking death, find life : let it come on. 
I.fub. [ Wilhin] What, ho ! Peace here ; 

grace and good coini>any ! 
Prov. Who's there ? come in : the wish 

desei'S'es a welcome. 
Dukr. Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you 

again. 
Claud. Most holy sir, I thank yon. 

Enter Isabella. 

Isab. My business is a word or two with 
Claudio. 

Pror. And very welcome. Look, siguior, 
here's your .<!ister. 

Duke. Provost, a word with you. 50 

Proi\ As many as you please. 

Duke. Bring me to hear them speak, where 
I may be concealed. 

[Exeunt Duke and Provost. 

Clmid. Xow, sister, what's the comfort? 

I.mh. Why, 

As all comforts are ; most good, most good in- 
deed. 
Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven, 
Intends you ft)r his swift ambassador, 
Where you shall be an everlasting leiger : 
Therefore your best appointment make with 
speed ; (iO 

To-morrow you set on. 

Claud. Is there no remedy ? 

Isab. None, but such remedy as, to save 
a head, 
To cleave a heart in twain. 

Claud. But is there any ? 

Isab. Yes, brother, you nmy live : 
There is a devili.sh mercy in the judge, 
If you'll implore it, that will free your life, 
But fetter you till death. 

Claud. Perpetual durance? 

laab. Ay, just ; perpetual durance, a re- 
straint, 
Though all the world's vastidity you liad. 
To a determined scope. 

Clitud. But in what nature ? 70 

IxaJ). In such a one as, you consenting to't. 
Would bark your honor from that trunk you 

bear. 
And leave you naked. 

Claud. Let me know the point. 

Isab. O, I do fear thee, Claudio ; and I 
quake, 
Lest thou a feverous life shonldst entertain, 
And six or seven winters more respect 
Than a peri)etiuil honor. Darest thou die ? 
The seuse of death is most in apprehension ; 
Anil the poor beetle, that we tread upon. 
In I'orimral sufferance finds a pang as great SO 
As when a giant dies. 

Claud. Why give you me this shame ? 

Think you I can a resolution fetch 
From flowery tenderness ? If I must die 
1 will encounter darkness as a bride, 
And bug it in mine arms. 

Isab. There spake my brother ; there my 
father's grave 



Did utter forth a voice. Yes, thou mu.stdie: 

Thou art too noble to conserve a life 

lu base appliances. This outward-saiuted 

deputy, 
WhoBS settled visage and deliberate word 90 
Nips youth i' the head and follies doth em- 
mew 
As falcon dt)th the fowl, is yet a devil ; 
His tilth within being cast, he would appear 
A pond as deep as hell. 

Claud. The i)renzie Angelo ! 

Isab. O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell. 
The danined'.st body to invest and cover 
In prenzie guards I Dost thou think, Claudio? 
If I would yield him my virginity, 
Thou iniglitst be freed. 

'.'laud. O heavens ! it cannot be. 

Isab. Yes, he would give 't thee, from this 
rank offence, 100 

So to offend him still. This night's the time 
That I should do what I abhor to name. 
Or else thou diest to-morrow. 

Claud. Thou .shalt not do't. 

Imb. 0, were it but my life, 
rid throw it down for your deliverance 
As frankly as a pin. 

Claud. Thanks, dear Isabel. 

Isab. Be ready, Claudio, for your death 
to-morrow. 

Claud. Yes. Has lie affections in him, 
That thus can make him bite the law by the 

no.se, 
When he would force it? Sure, it is no sin, 110 
Or of the deadly seven, it is the least. 

Isab. Which is the least ? 

Claud. If it were damnable, he being so 
wise, 
Why would he for the momentary trick 
Be i)erdurably fined ? O Isabel ! 

Isab. What says my brother ? 

Claud. Death is a fearful thing. 

Isab. And shamed life a hateful. 

Claud. Ay, but to die, and go we know not 
where ; 
To lie in cold obstruction and to rot ; 
This sensible w^arm motion to become I'JO 

A kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit 
To bathe in fiery tioods, or to reside 
In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice ; 
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, 
And blown witli restless violence round about 
The pendent world ; or to be worse than 

worst 
Of those that lawless and incertain thought 
Imagine howling : 'tis too horrible ! 
The weariest and most loathed worldly life 
That age, ache, penury and imprisonment irX) 
Can lay on nature is a paradise 
To what we fear of death. 

Isab. Alas, alas ! 

Claud. Sweet sister, let me live : 

What sin you do to save a brother's life, 
Nature dispenses with the deed .so far 
That it becomes a virtue. 

Isab. O you beast ! 

O faithless coward ! dishonest wretch I 



730^ 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



[Act nt. 



Wilt thou be iiiaile a mau out of my vice ? 
Is't not a Iciud of incest, to take life 
From thine own sister's shame ? What should 
I think ? 140 

Heaven shield my mother play'd my father 

fair ! 
For such a warjied slip of wilderness 
Ne'er issued from liis blood. Take my de- 
fiance ! 
Die, perish ! Might but my bending down 
Reprieve thee fronx thy fate, it should pro- 
ceed : 
I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death, 
No word to save thee. 

Claud. Nay, hear me, Isabel. 

Isab. O, fie, fie, fie ! 

Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade. 
Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd : 150 
'Tis best thou diest quickly. 

Claml. O hear me, Isabella ! 

Re-enter Duke. 

Duke. Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but 
one word. 

Isab. AVhat is your will ? 

Duke. Might you dispense with your leis- 
ure, I would by and by have some speech with 
you : the satisfaction I would require is like- 
wise your own benefit. 

Isah. I have no superfluous leisure ; my stay 
must be stolen out of other affairs ; but I will 
attend you awhile. [ Walks apart. 

Duke. Son, I have overheard what hath 
passed between you and your sister. Angelo 
had never the purpose to corrupt her ; only he 
hath made an essay of her virtue to practise 
his judgment with tiie disposition of natures: 
she, having the truth of honor in her, hath 
made him that gracious denial which he is 
most glad to receive. I am confessor to An- 
gelo, and I know this to be true ; therefore 
prepare yourself to death : do not satisfy 
j'our resolution Avith hopes that are fallible : 
to-morrow you must die ; go to your knees 
and make ready. 

Claud. Let me ask my sister pardon. lam 
so out of love with life that I will sue to be rid 
of it. 

Duke. Hold you there : farewell. [Exit 
Claudii).] Provost, a word with you ! 
Re-enter Provost. 
• Proij. What's your will, father ? 

Duke. That now you are come, you will be 
gone. Leave me awhile with the maid : my 
mind promises with my habit no loss shail 
touch her by my company. 

Prov. In good time. 

[Exit Provost. Isabella comes forward. 

Duke. The hand that hath made you fair 
hath made you good : the goodness that is 
cheap in beauty makes beauty brief in good- 
ness ; but grace, being the soul of your com- 
plexion, shall keep the body of it ever fair. 
The assault that Angelo hath made to you, 
fortune hath conveyed to my understanding ; 
and, l)Ut that frailty hath examples for his 



falling, I should wonder at Angelo. How will 
you do to content this substitute, and to save 
your brother ? 

Isab. I am now going to resolve him : I had 
rather my brotlier die by the law than my sou 
should be unlawf ullj' born. ljut,0, how mucla 
is the good duke deceived in Angelo ! If ever 
he return and I can speak to him, I will open 
my lips in vain, or discover his government. 

Duke. That shall not be nutcli amiss : yet, 
as tlie matter now stands, lie will avoid your 
accusation ; he made trial of you only. There- 
fore fasten your ear on my advisuigs : to the 
love I have in doing good a remedy presents 
itself. I do make myself believe tluit you 
may most uprigliteously do a poor wronged 
lady a merited benefit ; redeem your brotlier 
from the angry law; do no stainto your own 
gracious person ; and much please the absent 
duke, if peradventure he shall ever return to 
have hearing of this business. 211 

Isab. Let me hear you speak farther. I 
have spirit to do anything tliat appears not 
foul in the truth of mj' spirit. 

Duke. Virtue is bold, and goodness never 
fearful. Have you not heard speak of JNIari- 
ana, the sister of Frederick tiie great soldier 
who miscarried at sea ? 

Isab. I liave heard of the lady, and good 
words went with her name. 220 

Duke. She should tliis Angelo have mar- 
ried ; was affianced to her by oath, and the 
nu])tial appointed : between wliicli time of the 
contract and limit of the solemnity, her brotlier 
Frederick was wrecked at sea, having in that 
perished vessel tlie dowry of his sister. But 
mark how heavily this befell to the poor gentle- 
woman : there she lost a noble and renowned 
brother, in his love toward her ever most kind 
and natural ; with him, the portion and sinew 
of her fortune, her marriage-dowry; with 
both, her combinate husband, this well-seeming 
Angelo. 

Isab. Can this be so ? did Angelo so leave 
her ? 

Duke. Left her in her tears, and dried not one 
of them with his comfort ; swallowed his vows 
whole, pretending in her discoveries of dis- 
honor : in few, bestowed her on her own 
lamentation, which she yet wears for his sake; 
and he, a marble to her tears, is washed with 
them, but relents not. 

Isah. What a merit were it in death to take 
this |)Oor maid from the world ! What cor- 
ruption in this life, tliat it Avill let tliis man 
live ! But how out of this can she avail ? 

Duke. It is a rupture that you may easily 
heal : and the cure of it not only saves your 
brother, but keeps you from dishonor in doing- 
it. 

Isab. Show me how, good father. 

Duke. This forenamed maid hath j-et in 
her the continuance of her first affection: his 
unjust unkindness, that in all reason should 
have quenched her love, hath, like an iiupedi- 
ment in the current, made it more violent and 



SfiENK II.] 



ME ASSURE FOR MEASURE. 



m 



nuriily. Go you to Angelo ; answer his re- 
•quirinji with :i plausililn obedience; a^ree with 
liis demands to the jioint ; only refer yonrself 
to tliis advantage, lirst, tliat your stay with 
liim may not be long ; that the time may have 
all sliadow and .silence in it ; and tlie ])lace 
answer to convenience. This being granted in 
course, — and now follows all, — we shall advise 
this wronged inaid to stead up your appoint- 
ment, go in your ))lace ; if the encoiniter ac- 
knowledge itself licreal'tcr, it may compel him 
to her recompense : and here, by this, is your 
hrothcr saved, your lionor untainted, tlie poor 
Mariana advantaged, and the corrupt deputy 
Hcaled. The maid will 1 frame and make tit 
for his attempt. If you think well to carry 
this as you may, the doublene.ss of the benefit 
defends the deceit from reproof. AVhat think 
yon of it ? 

Ixah. Tite image of it gives me content al- 
ready ; anil 1 trust it will grow to a most pros- 
perous perfection. 

/>id('. It lies nmch in your holding np. 
JIaste .\ou speedily to Angelo: if for this night 
lie entreat you to his bed, give him ]iromise of 
satisfaction. 1 will presently to Saint Luke's: 
tiierc, at the moated grange, resides this de- 
jected iMariana. .\t that place call upon me; 
and dispatch with Angelo, that it may be 
(piickly. 

futih. I thank you for this comfort. Fare 
you well, good father. [Exeunt severallif. 281 

Sf'ENK II. The. tttreet before the prison. 

Enter, ononeMde, Duke disfiuised as before; on 
the other, Elbow, and Officers ioith Pompev. 

Klb. >fay, if thete be no remedy for it, but 
that you will needs buy and sell men and 
women like beasts, we shall have all the world 
drink brown and white bastard. 

Diiki: () heavens ! what stuff is here ? 

/\iin. 'Twas never merry world since, of 
two usuries, the merriest was i)ut down, and 
the worser allowed by order of law a furred 
gown to kee|) him \\arm ; and furred with fox 
and lainb-skins too, to sig'.iiiy, that craft, be- 
ing richer than innocencv, stands for the 
facing. ■ 11 

Klb. Come your way, sir. 'IJIess you, good 
father friar. 

Duke. And you, good brother father. What 
ofYence hath this man made yon, sir ? 

Klh. Marry, sir, he hath offended the law: 
an<l, sir, we take him to be a thief too, sir; for 
we have found \\\wn him, sir, a strange pick- 
lock, which we have sent to the deputy. 

hiike. Fie, sirrah ! a bawd, a wicked bawd! 
Tlu> evil tiiat tlion cansest to be done, 21 

That is thy means to live. Do tiiou but think 
What 'tis to cram a maw or clothe a back 
From such a filthy vice : say to thyself, 
From their abominable and beastly touches 
I drink, I eat, array myself, and live. 
Canst thou believe thy living is a life, 
So stinkingly depeudiag ? (jo mend, go mend. 



Pom. Indeed, it does stink in some sort, 
sir; but yet, sir, 1 would prove — 30 

Duke. Nay, if the devil have given thee 
proofs for sin. 
Thou wilt prove his. Take him to prison, 

officer: 
Correction and instruction must both work 
Ere this rude beast will profit. 

Elb. He must before the deputy, sir; he has 
given him warning : the deputy cannot abide 
a whoremaster: if he be a whoremonger, and 
conies before him, he were as good go a mile 
on his errand. 

Duke. That we were all, as some would 

seem to be, 40 

tFrom our faults, as faults from seeming, free! 

Elb. His neck will come to your waist, — a 
cord, sir. 

Pom. I spy comfort ; I cry bail. Here's a 
gentleman and a friend of mine. 

Enter Lucio. 

Liicio. How now, noble Ponipey! What, 
at the wheels of C:esar ? art thou led in 
triumph ? What, is there none of Pygma- 
lion's images, newly made woman, to be l)ad 
now, forimtting the h:ind in the pocket and 
extracting it clutched ? What reply, ha ? 
What saye.st thou to this tune, matter and 
method ? Is't not drowned i' the last lain, 
ha ? What sayest thou. Trot ? Is tlie world 
as it was, man ? Which is the way ? Is it 
.sad, and few words ? or how? The trick of 
it ? 

Duke. Still thus, and thus ; still worse ! 

Laeio. How doth my dear morsel, thy mis- 
tress ? Procures she still, ha ? 

Pom. Troth, sir, slie hath eaten up all her 
beef, and she is herself in the tub. 

Lucio. Why, 'tis good ; it is the right of it; 
it must be so: ever your fresh whore and your 
powdered bawd : an unshunned consequence; 
it must be so. Art going to pri.son, Pompey ? 

Po)n. Yes, faith, sir. 

Liirio. Why, 'tis not aiiii.ss, Pompey. Fare- 
well : go, .say I sent thee thither. For debt, 
Pompey ? or how ? 

Elb. For being a bawd, for being a bawd. 

Lucio. Well, then, imprison him : if im- 
prisonment be the due of a bawd, why, 'tis his 
right : liawd is he doulitless, and of antiquity 
too ; bawd-born. Farewell, good Pompsy. 
Commend nie to the prison, Pompey: you will 
turn good husband now, Pompey; you will 
keep the house.- 

Pom. I hope, sir, your good worslii]) will be 
my bail. 

iMcio. No, indeed, will I not, Pomiiey; it 
is not the wear. I will pray, Pompey, to in- 
crease your bondage : if you take it not pa- 
tiently, why, your mettle is the more. Adieu, 
trusty Pompey. 'Bless you, fri.ar. 81 

Duke. And you. 

Lucio. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey, 
ha? 

Elb. Come your ways, sir; come. 



732 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



[Act iir. 



Pom. You will not bail me, then, sir ? 

Lwio. Then, Pompey, nor now. What 
news abit>ad, friar ? wliat news ? 

Elb. Come your ways, sir; come. 

Lncio. Goto kennel, Pompey; go. [Exerint 
Elbotv, Pompey and Officers.] What news, 
friar, of the duke ? " 91 

Duke. I know none. Can you tell me of 
any ? 

Liicio. Some say he is with the Emperor of 
Russia ; other some, he is in Rome: but where 
is he, think you ? 

Ihtke. I know not where ; but wheresoever, 
I wish him well. 

Lncio. It was a mad fantastical ti'ick of 
liim to steal from the state, and usurp the 
beggary he was never born to. Lord Angelo 
dukes it well in liis absence ; he puts trans- 
gression to 't. 101 

Duke. He does well in 't. 

Lucio. A little more lenity to lechery would 
do no harm in liini : something too crabbed 
that way, friar. [must cure it. 

Duke. It is too general a vice, and severity 

Lucio. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a 
great kindred ; it is well allied : but it is im- 
possible to extirp it quite, friar, till eating and 
drinking be put down, They say this Angelo 
was not made by man and woman after this 
downriglit way of creation : is it true, think 
you ? 

Duke. How should he be made, then ? 

Lucio. Some report a sea-maid spawned 
him ; some, that he was begot between two 
stock-fi.shes. But it is certain that when he 
makes water his urine is congealed ice ; that 
I know to be true : t and he is a motion gene- 
rative ; that's infallible. [apace. 

Duke. You are pleasant, sir, and speak 

Ijucio. Why, what a ruthless thing is this 
in him, for the rebellion of a codpiece to take 
away the life of a man ! Would the duke that 
is absent have done tliis ? Ere he would have 
hanged a man for tlie getting a hundred bas- 
tards, he would have paid for the nursing a 
thousand : he had some feeling of the sport: 
lie knew the service, and that instructed him 
to mercy. 

Duke. I never heard the absent duke much 
detected for women ; he was not inclined that 
way. 

Lncio. O, sir, you are deceived 131 

Duke. 'Tis not possible. 

Lucio. Who, not the duke ? yes, your beg- 
gar of fifty; and his use was to put a ducat in 
her clack-dish : the duke had crotchets in him. 
He would be drunk too ; that let me inform 
you. 

Duke. You do him wrong, surely. 

Lucio. Sir, I was an inward of his. A shj'^ 
fellow was the duke : and Ibelieve I know the 
cause of his withdrawing. 140 

Duke. What, I prithee, might be the 
cause ? 

Lucio, No, pardon ; 'tis n secret must be 
locked witbiu the teeth and the lips : but this 



I can let you understand, the greater file of 
tlie subject held the duke to be wise. 

Duke. Wise! why, no question but he was. 

Lucio. A very superficial, ignorant, um 
weighing fellow. 

Duke. Either tlys is envy in you, folly, oi 
mistaking : the very stream of his life and tlie 
business lie hath helmed must upon a war- 
ranted need give him a better proclamation. 
Let him be but testimonied in his own bring- 
ings-forth, and he shall ajipear to the envious 
a scholar, a statesman and a soldier. There- 
fore you speak unskilfully ; or if your knowl- 
edge be more it is much darkened in your 
malice. 

Lucio. Sir, I know him, and I love liim, 

Duke. Love talks with better knowledge, 
and knowledge with dearer love. KiO 

Lucio. Come, sir, I know what I know. 

Duke. I can hardly believe that, since yoi^ 
know not what you speak. But, if ever the 
duke return, as our prayers are he may, let 
me desire you to make your answer before 
him. If it be honest you have spoke, you have 
courage to maintain it : I am bound to call 
upon you ; and, I pray you, your name ? 

Lucio. Sir, my name is Lucio ; well known 
to the duke. 170 

Duke. He shall know you better, sir, if I 
may live to report you. 

Lucio. I fear you not. 

Duke. O, you hope the duke will return no 
more ; or you imagine me too unhurtful an 
opposite. But indeed I can do you little harm ; 
you '11 forswear this again. 

Ltu'io. I'll be hanged first : thou art de- 
ceived in me, friar. But no more of this. 
Canst thou tell if Claudio die to-morrow or 
no,? 180 

Duke. Why should he die, sir ? 

Lucio. Why ? For filling a bottle with a 
tundish. I would the duke we talk of were 
returned again : the ungenitured agent will 
unpeople the province with continency : spar- 
rows must not build in liis liouse-eaves, be- 
cause they are lecherous. The duke yet 
would have dark deeds darkly answered ; he 
would never bring them to light : would he 
were returned ! Marry, this Claudio is con- 
denined for untrussing. Farewell, good friar: 
I prithee, pray for me. The duke, I say to 
thee again, would eat mutton on Fridays. He's 
not past it yet, and I say to thee, he would 
mouth with a beggar, though she smelt brown 
bread and garlic : say that I said so. Fare- 
well. ' [E.\-)t. 

Duke. No might nor greatness in mortality 
Can censure 'scape ; back-wounding calumny 
The whitest virtue strikes. What king so 

strong 
Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue ? 
But who comes here ? 200 

Enter Escalus, Provost, and Officers with 

MISTRE.SS OVERDOJsK 

Escal. Go ; away with her to prisoa . 



Scene i.) 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



7S3 



Mrs. Or. Good my lord, be good to me ; 
your honor is accounted a merciful mun ; good 
iuy lord. 

Esral. Double and treble admonition, and 
still forfeit in the same kind ! This would 
make rjercy swear and play the tyrant. 

Pror. A bawd of eleven years' continuanc^e, 
may it please your honor. 

ilia. Oc. My lord, this is one Lucio's in- 
formation against me. Jlistress Kate Keei)- 
down was with child by him in the duke's 
time ; he promised her marriage : his child is 
a year and a quarter old, come Philip and 
Jacob : I have kejjt it myself ; and see how 
he goes about to abuse me ! 

Escal. That fellow is a fellow of much 
license : let him be called before us. Away 
with her to prison ! Go to ; no more words. 
[Ercuiit Officers tcith Mistress Or.] Provost, 
my l)rother Angelo will not be altered ; Claudio 
nuist die to-morrow : let him be furnished with 
divines, and have all charitable preparation. 
If my brother wrought by my pity, it should 
not be so with him. 

Pror. So please you, this friar hath been 
with him, and advised him for the entertain- 
ment of death. 

Escal. Good even, good father. 

Duke. Bliss and goodness on you ! 

Escal. Of whence are you ? 

Duke. Not of this country, though my 
chance is now 'I'M 

To use it for my time : I am a brother 
< )f gracious order, late come from the Sec 
In .special business from iiis holiness. 

Escal. What news abroad i' the world ? 

Duke. None, but that there is so great a 
fever on goodness, that the dissolution of it 
nmst cure it : novelty is only in request ; and 
it is as dangerous to' be aged in any kind of 
course, as it is virtuous to be constant in any 
undertaking. There is scarce truth enough 
alive to make societies secure ; but security 
enough to make fellowships accurst : much 
upon this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. 
This news is old enough, yet it is every day's 
news. I pray you, sir, of what disposition 
was the duke ? ' 

Escal. One that, above all other strifes, 
contended especially to know himself. 

Jhike. What pleasure was he given 
to ? 

Escal. Rather rejoicing to see another 
merry, than merry at any thing which pro- 
fessed to make him rejoice : a gentleman of 
all temperance. But leave we him to his 
events, with a jirayer they may i)rove i)ros- 
perous ; and let me desire to know how ymi 
find Claudio prepared. I am made to under- 
stand that you have lent him visitation. 

Duke. He i)rofesses to have received no 
sinister measure from his judge, but most 
willingly humbles himself to the determination 
')f justice : yet had he framed to himself, by 
tlie instruction of his fniilty, many deceiving 
promises of life ; whjcU I by my ^j'ood leisure 



have discredited to him, aud now is Jie re- 
solved to die. 

Escal. You have paid the heavens your 
function, and the prisoner the very debt of your 
calling. I have labored for the poor gentle- 
man to the extreme.st shore of my modesty : 
but my brother justice have 1 found so severe, 
that he hath forced me to tell him he is indeed 
Justice. 

Duke. If his own life answer the straitnc.ss 
of his proceeding, it shall become liim well ; 
wherein if he chance to fail, he hath sentenced 
himself. 

Escal. I am going to visit the prisoner. 
Fare you well. 

Duke. Peace be with you ! 

[Exeunt Escalus and Provost. 
He who the sword of lieaven will bear 
Should be as holy as severe ; 
Pattern in himself to know, 
Kirace to sttmd, and virtue go ; 
More nor less to others paying 
Than by self-offences weighing. 280 

Sluime to him whose cruel striking 
Kills for faults of his own liking ! 
Twice treble shame on Angelo, 
To weed my vice aud let his grow ! 
O, what may man within him hide, 
Though angel on the outward side ! 
tHow may likeness made in crimes, 
Making practice on the times. 
To draw with idle spiders' strings 
I\Iost ponderous and substantial things ! 290 
Craft against vice I jnust apply : 
With Angelo to-night shall lie 
His old betrothed but despised ; 
t So disguise shall, by the disguised. 
Pay with falsehood false exacting. 
And perform :in old contracting. [Exit. 



ACT IV. 



Scene I. The moated (/ranr/e at St. Luke's. 
Enter Mariana and a Boy. 
Boy sint/s. 
Take, O, take those lii)s away. 

That so sweetly were forsworn ; 
And those eyes, the break of day. 

Lights that do mislead tlio morn : 
But my kisses liring again, britig again . 
Seals of love, but sealed in vain, sealed in 
vain. 
^[ari. Break ofT thy song, and haste thee 
quick away : 
Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice 
Ilath often still'd my brawling discontent. 

[Exit Boy. 
Enter Ditke disf/uiscd as be/ore. 
I cry you mercy, sir ; and well could wish 10 
You had not found me here so musical : 
Let me excuse me, and believe me so, 
IMy mirth it much displeased, but pleased my 
wug. 



734 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



[Act IV. 



Duke. 'Tis good ; though music oft hath 
such a charm 
To make bad good, aud good provoke to )iarm. 
i pray you, tell me, hath auy body iii(|uived 
for ine here to-day ? much upon this time 
have I promised here to meet. 

MavL You have not been inquired after : I 
have sat here all day. '20 

Enter Isabella. 

Duke. I do constantly believe you. Tlie 
time is come even now. I shall crave your 
forbearance a little : maybe I will call upon 
you anon, for some advantnge to yourself. 

Mart. I am always bound to you. YE.dt. 

Duke. Very well met, and well come. 
What is the news from this ,t;<jod deputy ? 

Isab. He hath a garden circummured with 
brick. 
Whose western side is with a vineyard bacUM ; 
And to that vineyard is a planched gate, ;iO 
That makes his opening with tliis bigger key : 
This other doth command a little door 
Which from the vineyard to the garden leads ; 
There have I made my jjromise 
Upon the heavy middle of the night 
To call upon him. 

Duke. But shall you on your knowledge 
find this way ? 

Isah. I have ta'eu a due and wary note 
upon't : 
With whispering and most guilty diligeni^e, 
In action all of precept, he did show me 40 
The way twice o'er. 

Duke. Are there no other tokens 

Between you 'greed concerning her observ- 
ance ? 

Isah. No, none, but only a repair i' the 
dark ; 
And that I have possess' d him my most stay 
Can be but brief ; for I have made him know 
I have a servant comes with me along. 
That stays upon me, whose persuasion is 
I come about ray brother. 

Duke. 'Tis well borne up. 

I have not yet made known to Mariana 
A word of this. What, ho I within ! come 
forth ! 50 

Re-enter Mariana. 
I pray you, be acquainted with this maid ; 
She comes to do you good. 
Isab. I do desire the like. 

Duke. Do you persuade yourself tliat I re- 
spect you ? 
Mart Good friar, I know you do, and have 

found it. 
Duke. Take, then, this your companion by 
the hand, 
Who hath a story ready for your ear. 
I shall attend your leisure : but make haste ; 
The vaporous night approaches. 
Man. Will't please you walk aside ? 

[Exeunt Mariana and Isabella. 

Duke. place and greatness ! millions of 

(ftlse eyes 60 



Are stuck upon thee ; volumes of report 
Run with these false and most contrarious 

quests 
Upon tliy doings : thousand escapes of wit 
Make thee the father of their idle dreams 
And rack thee in their fancies. 

Re-enter Mariana an.d 1sabkli>a. 

Welcome, how agreed ? 
Isah. She '11 take the enteriirise upon her, 
father, 
If you advise it. 

Duke. It is not my consent, 

But my entreaty too. 

Isah. Little have you to say 

When you depart from him, but, soft and 

low, 
' Remember now my brother.' 
Mari . Fear me not. 70 

Duke. Nor, gentle. daughter, fear you not 
at all. 
He is your husband on a pre-contract : 
'I'll l)riiig you tliiis together, 'tis no sin, 
Sith that the justiro of \oar title to liim 
Doth llourish the (le<'t'it. (.'ome, let us go : 
(.)ur corn's to reap, for yet our tithe's to sow. 

[Exeunt. 

ScENK II. A room in the jiri-^'ou. 
Enter Provo.st and Pompev. 

Prov. Come hither, sirrah. Can you cut 
off a man's head ? 

I'om. If the man be a bachelor, sir, I can ; 
but if he be a married man, he's his wife's 
liead, and I can never cut off a woman's head. 

Pror. Come, sir, leave me your snatches, 
and yield me a direct answer. To-morrow 
morning are to die Claudio and Barnardine. 
Here is in our jjrison a common executioner, 
who in his office lacks a lielper : if you Avill 
take it on you to assist him, it shall redeem 
you from your gyves ; if not, you shall have 
your full time of imjjrisonment and your de- 
liverance with an unpitied whipping, for you 
have been a notorious bawd. 

Pom. Sir, I have been an unlawful Ijawd 
time out of mind ; but yet I will be content to 
be a lawful hangman. I would be glad to re- 
ceive some instruction from my fellow part- 
ner. 

Prov. What, ho ! Abhorson ! Where's Ab- 
horson, tliere ? 21 

Enter Abhokson. 

Abhor. Do you call, sir ? 

Pror. Sirrah, here's a fellow will help you 
to-morrow in your execution. If you think it 
meet, compound with him by the year, and 
let him abide here with you ; if not, use him 
for the present and dismiss him. He cannot 
plead his estimation with you ; he hath been 
a bawd. 

Abhor. A bawd, sir ? fie upon him ! he 
will discredit our mystery. 30 

Prov. Go to, sir ; you weigh equall.y ; a 
fei^thev will turn tbe scale. lExU' 



SCJUNE II.] 



MEASrilE /■<)/; MEASURE. 



736 



Pom. Pray, sir, by yuur yood lavur, — for 
surely, sir, a good favor you liave, but tliut 
you liave a hanging look, — do you call, sir, 
your occupation a mystery ? 

Abhor. Ay, sir ; a mystery. 

Pom. Painting, sir, I liave heard say, is a 
mystery ; and your whores, sir, being mem- 
bers of my occupation, using painting, do 
prove my occupation a mystery : but what 
mystery there should be in hanging, if I 
should be hanged, I cannot imagine. 

Abhor. Sir, it is a mystery. 

Pom. Proof ? 

Abhor. Every true man's apparel fits your 
thief : if it be too little lor your thief, your 
true man thinks it big enough ; if it be too 
big for your thief, your thief thinks it little 
enough : so every true man's apparel fits your 
thief. 50 

Re-enter Provost. 

Prov. Are you agreed ? 

Po7n. Sir, I will serve him ; for I do find 
your hangman is a more penitent trade than 
your bawd ; he doth oftener ask forgiveness. 

Pror. You, sirrah, provide your block and 
your axe to-morrow four o'clock. 

Abhor. Come on, bawd ; I will instruct 
thee in my trade ; follow. 

Pom. I do desire to learn, sir : and I hope, 
if you have occasion to use me for your own 
turn, you shall find me yare ; for truly, sir, 
for your kindness I owe you a good turn. 

Prov. Call hither Baruardine and Claudio : 
[E.veunt Pompey and Abliorson. 
The one has my pity ; not a jot the other. 
Being a murderer, though he were my brother. 

Enter Claudio. 
Look, here's the warrant, Claudio, for thy 

death : 
'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-mor- 
row 
Thou must be made immortal. Where's Bar- 
uardine ? 

Claud. As last lock'd up in sleep as guilt- 
less labor 
When it lies starkly in the traveller's bones : 
He will not wake. 71 

Prov. Who can do good on him ? 

Well, go, prepare -^onv^&M.^Knockiny ivithin.'] 

But, hark, what noise ? 
Heaven give your spirits comfort ! [Exit 

Claudio.'] By and by. 
I hope it is some pardon or reprieve 
For tlie most gentle Claudio. 

Enter Duke dm/uised as before. 

Welcome, father. 
Duke. The best and whole.somest spirits of 
the night 
Envelope vou, good Provost ! Who call'dhere 
of late?' 
Pror. None, since the curfew rung. 
Duke. Not Isabel ? 
Pror. No. 

J)tilce> they will, then, ere't be long. 



/'/■("•. What comfort is for Claudio ? 80 
Duke. There's some in hope. 
Pror. It is a bitter deputy. 

Duke. Not so, not so ; his life is parallel'd 
Even with the stroke and line of his great 

justice : 
He doth with holy al)stinence subdue 
That in himself which lie si)urs on his power 
To (jualify in others : were he meal'd with 

that 
Which he connects, then were he tyrannous ; 
But this being so, he's just. [Knockiufj within. 
Now are they come. 
[E.tit Provont. 
This is a gentle provost : seldom when 
The steeled gaoler is tlie friend of men. 

[Knockinr/ loithin. 90 
How now ! what noise ? That spirit's pos- 
sessed with haste 
That wounds the unsisting postern with these 
strokes. 

He-enter Provost. 

Prov. There he must stay until the officer 
Arise to let him in : he is call'd up. 

Duke. Have you no counterimmd for Clau- 
dio yet. 
But he must die to-morrow? 

Prov. None, sir, none. 

Duke. As near the dawning, provost, as it 
is, 
You shall hear more ere morning. 

Prov. Happily 

You something know ; yet I believe there 

comes 
No countermand ; no such example have we: 
Besides, upon the very siege of ju.stice 101 
Lord Angelo hath to the ijublic ear 
Profess'd the contrary. 

Enter a Mes.sencer. 

This is his lordship's man. 

Duke. And here comes Claudio's pardon. 

Mes. [Giving a paper.] My lord hath sent 
you this note ; and by me this further charge, 
that you swerve not from the smallest article 
of it, neither in time, matter, or other circum- 
stance. Good morrow ; for, as I take it, it is 
almost day. 

Prov. I shall obey him. [Exit Messenger. 

Duke. [Aside] "This is his pardon, pur- 
chased by such sin 
For which the pardoner himself is in. 
Hence hath offence his quick celerity, 
When it is borne in higli authority : 
When vice makes mercy, mercy's so extend- 
ed, 
That for the fault's love is the ofifender friend- 
ed. 
Now, sir, what news ? 

Prov. I told you. Lord Angelo, belike 
thinking me remiss in mine oflSce, awakens 
me with this unwonted ])utting-on : methinks 
strangely, for he hath not used it before- J2X 

Duke. Pray you, let's hear. 

Prov. [Heads} 



536 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



[Act IV. 



' Whatsoever you may hear to the contrary, 
let Claiidio be executed by four of the clock ; 
and iu the afternoon Barnardiue : for my bet- 
ter satisfaction, let me have Claudio's head 
sent me by five. Let this be duly performed ; 
with a thought that more depends on it than 
we must yet deliver. Thus fail not to do your 
office, as you will answer it at your peril.' 130 
What say you to this, sir ? 

Duke. What is that Barnardine who is to 
be executed in the afternoon ? 

Prov. A Bohemian born, but here nursed 
up and bred ; one that is a prisoner nine 
years old. 

Duke. How came it that tlie absent duke 
had not either delivered him to his liberty or 
executed him ? I have heard it was ever his 
manner to do so. 

Prov. His friends still wrought reprieves 
f jr him : and, indeed, his fact, till now in the 
government of Lord Angelo, came not to an 
undoubtful proof. 

Duke. It is now apparent ? 

Prov. Most manifest, and not denied by 
himself. 

Duke. Hath he borne himself penitently in 
prison ? how seems he to be touched ? 

Prov. A man that apprehends death no 
moi"e dreadfully but as a drunken sleep ; care- 
less, reckless, and fearless of what's past, 
present, or to come ; insensible of mortality, 
and desperately mortal. 

Duke. He wants advice. 

Prov. He will hear none : he hath ever- 
more had the liberty of the prison ; give him 
leave to escape hence, he would not : drunk 
many times a day, if not many days entirely 
drunk. We have very oft awaked him, as if 
to carry him to execution, and showed him a 
seeming warrant for it : it hath not mosed 
him at all. 101 

Duke. More of him anon. There is written 
in your brow, provost, honesty and constancy: 
if I read it not truly, my ancient skill be- 
guiles me ; but, in the boldness of my cun- 
ning, T will lay myself in hazard. Claudio, 
whom here you have warrant to execute, is 
no greater forfeit to the law tliau Angelo who 
hath sentenced him. To make you under- 
stand this in a manifested effect, I crave but 
four days' respite ; for the which you are to 
do me both a present and a dangerous cour- 
tesy. 

Prov. Pray, sir, in what ? 

Duke. In the delaying death. 

Prov. Alack, how may I do it, having tlie 
hour limited, and an express counnand, un- 
der penalty, to deliver his head in the view of 
Angelo ? I may make my case as Claudio's, 
to cross this in the smallest. 

Duke. By the vow of mine order I war- 
rant you, if my in.structions may be your 
guide. Let this Barnardine be this morning 
executed, and his head borne to Angelo. 

Prov. Angelo hath seen them both, and 
will discover the favor. 



Duke. 0, death's a great disguiser ; and 
you may add to it. Shave the head, and tie 
the beard ; and say it was the desire of thfl 
penitent to be so bared before his death : yon 
know the course is common. If any thing fall 
to you upon this, more than thanks and good 
fortune, by the saint wliom I profess, I will 
plead against it with my life. 

Prov. Pardon me, good father ; it is against 
my oath. [the deputy ? 

Duke. Were you sworn to the duke, or to 

Prov. To him, and to his substitutes. 

Duke. You wiU think you have made no 
offence, if the duke avouch the justice of 
your dealing ? 201 

Prov. But what likelihood is iu that ? 

Duke. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. 
Yet since I see you fearful, that neitlier my 
coat, integrity, nor persuasion can with ease 
attempt you, I will go further than I meant, 
to pluck all fears out of you. Look you, sir, 
here is the hand and seal of the duke : you 
know the character, I doubt not ; and the sig- 
net is not strange to you. 

Prov. I know them both. 210 

Duke. The contents of this is the return of 
the duke : you shall anon over-read it at your 
pleasure ; where you shall find, within these 
two days he will be here. This is a thing tliat 
Angelo knows not ; for he this very day le- 
ceives letters of strange tenor ; perchance of 
the duke's death ; perchance entering into 
some monastery ; but, by chance, nothing of 
what is writ. Look, the unfolding star calls 
up tlie shepherd. Put not yourself into amaze- 
ment how these things should be : all ditti- 
culties are but easy when they are known. 
Call your executioner, and off with Barnai- 
dine's head : I will give him a present shrift 
and advise him for a better place. Yet you 
are amazed ; but this shall ab.soUitely resohc 
you. Come away ; it is almost clear dawn. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. Another room in the same. 

Enter Pompey. 

Po7n. I am as well acqixainted hej'e as I was 
in our house of profession : one would thinl< 
it were Mistress Overdone's own house, fur 
here be many of her old customers. First, 
here's young Master Rash ; he's in for a com- 
modity of brown paper and old ginger, nine- 
score and seventeen pounds ; of which he- 
made five marks, ready money : marry, then 
ginger veas not much in request, for the old 
wOiyen were all dead. Then is there here one 
IMaster Caper, at the suit of Master Three-pile 
the mercer, for some four suits of peach-col- 
ored satin, which now peaches him a beggar. 
Then have we here young Dizy, and young 
Master Deep-vow, aiiii Master Copperspur, 
and Master Starve-lackey tlie rapier and dag- 
ger man, and young Drop-heir that killed 
lusty Pudding, and Master Forthlight the filt- 
er, and brave Master Shooty the great trav- 



ScKUE in.] 



MEASUPF FOR MEASURE. 



737 



eller, and wild Half-cau tliat stabbed Pots, 

and i. tli'uk, forty mere ; all great doers in 

our trade, and are now ' for the Lord's sake.' 

Enter i\j5HORSOX. 

Abhor. Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither. 

Pom. Master Barnardine ! you must rise 
and be hanged, jNIaster Barnardine ! 

Abhor. \Vhat, lio, Barnardine ! 

Bar. [Wilhin] A pox o' your throats ! Who 
makes that noise there ? What are you ? 

Pom. Your friends, sir ; tlie linngiuan. You 
must be so good, sir, to rise and be put to deatli. 

Bar. [ir/7/i/n] Away, you rogue, away! I 
am sleei)y. o\ 

Abhor. Tell him lie must awake, and that 
quickly too. 

Pom. Pray, blaster Barnardine, awake till 
you are executed, and sleep afterwards. 

Abhor. Go in to him, and fetcli him out. 

Pom. He is coming, sir, he is coming ; I 
hear his straw rustle. 

Abhor. Is the axe upon the block, sirrah ? 

Pom. Very ready, sir. 40 

Enter B.\knardixk. 

Bar. How now, Abhorson ? what's the 
news with yon ? 

Abhor. Truly, sir, I would desire you to 
clap into your prayers ; for, look you, the 
warrant's come. 

Bar. You rogue, I have been drinking all 
night ; I am not fitted for 't. 

Pom. O, tlie better, sir ; for he that drinks 
all night, and is hanged betimes in the moin- 
ing, may sleep the sounder all the next day. 

Abhor. Look you, sir ; hei-e comes your 
ghostly father : do we jest now, think yoii ? 

Enter Duke disf/viserl as be/ore. 

Duke. Sir, induced by my charity, and 
hearing how hastily you are to depart, I am 
come to advise you, comfort you and pray with 
you. 

Bar. Friar, not I : I have been drinking 
hard all night, and I will have more time to 
prepare me, or they shall beat out my br.-iins 
with billets : I will not consent to die tliis day, 
that's certain. 

Buke. 0, sir, you must : and therefore I 
beseech you CO 

Look forward on the journey you shall go. 

Bar. I swear I will not die to-day for any 
man's persuasion. 

Duke. Bat hear you. 

Bar. Not a word : if you have any thing to 
say to me, come to my ward ; for thence will 
not I to-day. [Eyit. 

Duke. Unfit to live or die : O gravel heart ! 
After him, fellows ; bring him to the block. 
[Exeunt Abhorson and Pompey. 

Re-enter Pkovost. 

Pror. Now, sir, how do you find the pris- 
oner ? ' • 70 

J)uk^. A creature unprepared, uumeet for 
death ; 



And to transport him in the mind he is 
Were damnable. 

Prvv. Here in the prison, father, 

There died this morning of a ciuel fever 
Cue Rjigoziue, a most notorious pirate, 
A man of Claudio's \ ears ; !iis beard and head 
Just of his color. AVIiat if we do (miit 
Tliis reprobate till he were well inclined ; 
And satisfy the deputy with the visage 
Of liagozine, more like to Claudio? «i 

Duke. O, 'tis an accident that heaven jno- 
vides ! 
Dispatch it present'y ; the hour draws on 
Pretix'd by Angelo : see tliis be done, 
And sent according to command ; whiles I 
Persuade this rude wretcli willingly to die. 

Prov. This shall be done, good father, pres- 
ently. 
But Barnardine ]nust die this afternoon : 
And how shall we continue Claudio, 
To save me from the danger that might come 
If he were known ahve ? 

Duke. Let this be done. 90 

Put them in secret holds, both Barnardine and 

Claudio : 
Ere twice the sun hath made his journal greet- 
ing 
To the under generation, you shall find 
Y'our safety manifested. 

Prov. I am your free dependant. 

Jhike. Quick, dispatch, and send the head 
to Angelo. [Exit Provost. 

Now will I write letters to Angelo, — 
The provost, he shall bear them, — whose con- 
tents 
Shall witness to hini I am near at home. 
And that, by great injunctions, I am bound 100 
To enter ]Hiblicly : him I'll desire 
To meet me at the consecrated fount 
A league below the city ; and from thence, 
By cold gradation and well-balanced form, 
We shall proceed with Angelo. 

lie-enter Pkovost. 

Prov. Here is the liead ; I'll carry it myself. 

Duke. Convenieut is it. JMake a swift return; 
For I would couunune with you of such things 
That want no ear but yours.' 

Prov. I'll make all speed. [Exit. 

I.'iub. [Within] Peace, ho, be here ! 110^ 

Duke. The tongue of Isabel. She's come to 
know 
If yet her brother's pardon be come hither : 
But 1 will keep her ignorant of her good, 
To make her heavenly comforts of despair, 
\Vhen it is least expected. 

Enter Is.\hell.\. 
Isab. Ho, by your leavp ! 

Duke. Good morning to yonj fair and gra- 
cious daughter. 
Zsub. The better, given nie by so holy a luan. 
Hath yet thede|>uty sent my brother's jKirdon? 
Duke. He hath released him, Isabel, from 
the world : 
His Uead is off and sent to Angelo, 120 

47 



H^ 



Ueabum ^ok MAsnkk. 



{Adt i¥. 



Isab. Nay, but it is not so. 

Duke. It is no other : show your wisdom, 

daughter, 
In your close patience. 
teaJs. 0, I will to him and pluck out his 

eyes ! 
Duke. Yon shall not be admitted to his sight. 
Isah. Unhappy Glaudio ! wretched Isabel ! 
Injurious world ! most damned Aiigelo ! 
Duke. This nor hurts him nor profits you a 

jot ; 
Forbear it therefore ; give your cause to 

heaven. 
Mark what I say, which you shall find 130 

By every syllable a faithful verity : 
The duke comes home to-morrow ; nay, dry 

your eyes ; 
One of our convent and his confessor. 
Gives me this instance : already he hath carried 
Notice to Escalus and Angelo, 
Who do prepare to meet him at the gates. 
There to give up their power. If yon can, pace 

your wisdom 
In that good jjatli that I would wish it go, 
And you shall have your bosom on this wretch, 
Grace of the duke, revenges to your heart, 140 
And general honor. 
Isah. I am directed by you. 

Duke. This letter, then, to Friar Peter give ; 
'Tis that he sent me of the duke's return : 
Say, by this token, I desire his company 
At Mariana's house to-night. Her cause and 

yours 
I'll perfect him witlial, and he shall bring you 
Before the duke, and to the head of Angelo 
Accuse him home and home. For my poor self, 
I am combined by a sacred vow 
And shall be absent. Wend vou with this 

letter ; 
Command these fretting waters from your eyes 
Witli a light heart ; trust not my holy order, 
If I pervert your course. Who's here ? 

Enter LuCio. 

Lucio. Good even. Friar, where's the 
provost ? 

Duke. Not within, sir. 

Lucio. pretty Lsabella, I am pale at mine 
heart to see thine eyes so red : thou must be 
patient. I am fain to dine and sup with water 
and bran ; I dare not for my head fill ray 
belly ; one fruitful meal would set me to 't. 
But they say the duke will be here to-morrow. 
By my troth, Isabel, I loved thy brother : if 
the old fantastical duke of dai;!! corners had 
been at home, he had lived. [Exit Isabella. 

Duke. Sir, the duke is marvellous little be- 
holding to your reports ; but the best is, he 
lives not in tliem. 

Lucio. Friar, thou kuowest not the duke so 
well as I do : lie's a better woodman than thou 
takest him for. 171 

Duke. Well, you'll answer this one day. 
fare ye well. 

Lucio. Nay, tarry ; I'll go along with thee : 
I can tell thee" pretty tales of the duke- 



Duke. You have told me too miauy of him 
already, sir, if they be true ; if not true, uou« 
were enough. 

Lucio. I was once before him for getting a 
wench with child. 180 

Duke. Did you such a thing ? 

Lucio. Yes, marry, did I : but I was fain to 
forswear it ; they would else have married me 
to tlie rotten medlar. 

Duke. Sir, your company is fairer than 
honest. Rest you well. 

Lucio. By my troth, I'll go with thee to the 
lane's end : if bawdy talk offend you, we'll 
have very little of it. Nay, friar, I am a kind 
of burr ; I shall stick. [Exeunt. 190 

Scene IV. A room in Angelo's house. 
Enter Angelo and Escalus. 

Escal. Every letter he hath writ hath dis- 
vouched other. 

Awj. In most uneven and distracted manner. 
His actions show much like to madness : pray 
heaven his wisdom be not tainted ! And why 
meet him at the gates, and redeliver our author- 
ities there ? 

Escal. I guess not. 

Any. And why should we proclaim it in an 
hour before his entering, that if any crave 
redress of injustice, they sliould exhibit their 
petitions in the street ? 

Escal. He shows his reason for that : to 
have a dispatch of complaints, and to deliver 
us from devices hereafter, which shall tlien 
have no power to stand against us. 

Ang. Well, I beseech you, let it be pro- 
claimed betimes i' the morn ; I'll call you at 
your house : give notice to such men of sort 
and suit as are to meet liim. 20 

Escal. I sliall, sir. Fare you well. 

Ang. Good night. [Exit Escalus. 

This deed unshapes me quite, makes me un- 

pregnant 
And dull to all proceedings. A deflower'd 

maid ! 
And by an eminent body that enforced 
The law against it ! But that her tender 

shame 
Will not proclaim against her maiden loss. 
How raiglit slie tongue me ! Yet reason dares 

her no ; 
For my authority bears of a credent bulk. 
That no particular scandal once can touch 30 
But it confounds the breather. He should 
have lived, [sense. 

Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous 
Miglit in the times to come have ta'en revenge, 
By so receiving a dislionor'd life 
AVitli ransom of sucli shame. Would yet he 

had lived ! 
Alack, when once our grace we have forgot. 
Nothing goes right : we would, and we would 
not. [Exit. 

Scene V. Fields loithout the toiun. 
Enter Duke »i his own habit, and Friak 
Petes 



SoBNe i.l 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



-36 



Duke. Tliese letters at fit time deliver me ; 
IGiving letters. 
The provost knows our purpose aud our plot 
The matter being afoot, keep your instruction, 
And hold you ever to our special drift ; 
Though sometimes you do blench from this to 

that, 
As cause doth minister. Go call at Flavins' 

house. 
And tell him where I stay : give the like 

notice 
To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus, 
Aud bid tlieni bring the trumpets to the gate ; 
But send me Flavius first. 
Fri. P. It shall be speeded well. [Exit. 10 

Enter Vakrius. 
Duke. I thank thee, Varrius ; thou hast 
made good liaste : 
Come, we will walk. There's other of our 

friends 
Will greet us here auon, my gentle Varrius. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene VI. Street near the city gate. 
Enter Isabella a7id Mariana. 

Isao. To speak so indirectly I am loath : 
I would say the truth ; but to accuse liim so. 
That is your part : yet I am advised to do it ; 
He says, to veil full purpose. 

Mari. Be ruled by him. 

Jsab. Besides, he tells me that, if perad- 
venture 
He speak against me on the adverse side, 
I should not think it strange ; for 'tis a physic 
That's bitter to sweet end. 

Man. I would Friar Peter — 

huh. O, peace ! the friar is come. 

Enter Fkiar Peter. 
Fn. P. Come, I have found you out a 
staud mo.st fit, 10 

Where you may have such vantage on the 

duke, 
He shall not pass you. Twice have the 

trumpets sounded ; 
The generous and gravest citizens 
Have hent the gates, and very near upon 
The duke is entering : therefore, hence, away ! 

[Exeunt. 



ACT V. 



Scene I. The city gate. 

Mariana veiled, Isabella, and Friar Peter, 
at their stand. Enter Duke, Varkiis, 
Lords, Angelo, Escalus, Lncio, Provost, 
Officers, and Citizens, at sei'eral doors. 

Duke. My very worthy cousin, fairly nu't ! 
Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to 
see you. 

Mtcal I ^^PPy return be to your royal grace! 



Duke. Many and hearty thank ings to you 
both 
We have made inquiry of you' ; and we hear 
Such goodness of your justice, that our soul 
Caimot but yield you lortli to public thanks, 
Forerunning more requital. 

Ang. You make my bonds still greater. 

Duke. 0, your desert speaks loud ; aud I 
should wrong it, 
To lock it in tlie waids of covert bosom, 10 
When it deserves, with characters of brass, 
A forted residence 'gainst tlie tooth of time 
And razure of oblivion. Give me your hand. 
And let the subject sec, to make them know 
That outward courtesies would fain proclaim 
Favors that keep within. Come, Escalus, 
You must walk by us on our other hand ; 
Aud good supporters are you. 

Friar Peter and Isabella come forward. 

Fri. P. Now is your time : speak loud and 

kneel before him. 
Isab. Justice, royal duke ! Vail your re- 
gard 20 
Upon a wrong'd, I would fain have said, a 

maid ! 
O worthy prince, dishonor not your eye 
By throvving it on any other object 
Till you have heard me in my true complaint 
And given me justice, justice, justice, justice ! 
Duke. Relate your wrongs ; in what ? by 
whom ? be brief. 
Here is Lord Angelo shall give you justice : 
Reveal yourself to him. 

Isab. worthy duke, 

You bid me seek redemption of the devil : 
Hear me yourself ; for that which I must 
s])eak 30 

Must either punish me, uot being believed, 
Or wring redress from you. Hear me, hear 
me, here ! 
Ang. My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not 
firm : 
She hath been a suitor to me for her brother 
Cut off by course of justice, — 
Isab. By course of justice ! 

Ang. And she will speak most bitterly and 

strange. 
Isab. Most strange, but yet most truly, 
will I speak : 
That Augelo's forsworn ; is it not strange ? 
That Angelo' s a murderer ; is 't not strange ? 
That Angelo is an adulterous thief, 40 

An hypocrite, a virgin-violator ; 
Is it not strange aud strange ? 
Duke. Nay, it is ten times strange. 

Isab. It is not truer he is Angelo 
Than this is all as true as it is strange : 
Nay, it is ten times true ; for truth is truth 
To the end of reckoning. 

Duke. Away with lier ! Poor soul. 
She s|)eaks this in the infirmity i)f sense. 
Isab. O prince, 1 conjure thee, as thou be- 
lievest 
There is another comfort than this world. 
That thou neglect me not, with that opiniou 



740 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



[Act v. 



That I am touch'd with madness ! Make not 
impossible 51 

That which but seems unlike : 'tis not im- 
possible 
But one, the wioked'st caitiff on the ground, 
May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as ab- 
solute 
'As Angelo ; even so may Angelo, 
In all ills dressings, characts, titles, forms, 
Be an arch-villain ; believe it, royal prince : 
If he be less, he's nothing ; but he's more. 
Had I more name for badness. 

Duke. By mine honesty, 

[f she be mad, — as I believe no other, — 60 
Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense. 
Such a dependency of thing on thing, 
As e'er I heard in madness. 

Isab. gracious duke. 

Harp not on that, nor do not banish reason 
For inequality ; but let your reason serve 
To make the truth ajipear where it seems hid, 
And hide the false seems true. 

Duke. Many that are not mad 

Have, sure, more lack of reason. What would 
you say ? 

Isab. I am the sister of one Claudio, 
Condemn'd upon the act of fornication 70 

To lose his head ; condemu'd by Angelo : 
I, in probation of a sisterhood, 
Was sent to by my brother ; one Lucio 
As then the messenger, — 

Lucio. That's I, an't like your grace: 

I came to her from Claudio, and desired her 
To try her gracious fortune with Lord Angelo 
For her poor brother's pardon. 

Isab. That's he indeed. 

Duke. You were not bid to speak. 

Lucio. No, my good lord ; 

Nor wish'd to hold ray peace. 

Duke. I wish you now, then ; 

Pray you, take note of it : and when you have 
A business for yourself, pray heaven you then 
Be perfect. 

Lucio. I warrant your honor. 

Duke. The warrant 's for yourself ; take 
heed to't. 

Isab. This gentleman told somewhat of my 
tale, — 

Lucio. Right. 

Duke. It may be right ; but you are i' the 
wrong 
To speak before your time. Proceed. 

Isab. I went 

To this pernicious caitiff deputy, — 

Duke. That's somewhat madly spoken. 

Isab, Pardon it; 

The phrase is to the matter. 90 

Duke. Mended again. The matter ; pro- 
ceed, [by, 

Isab. In brief, to set the needless process 
How I persuaded, how I pray'd, and kneel'd, 
How he refell'd me, and how I replied, — 
Fur this was of much length, — the vile con- 
clusion 
I now begin with grief and shame to utter : 
He would not, but by gift of my chaste body 



To his concupiscible intemperate lust, 
Release my brother ; and, after much debate- 

ment, 
My sisterly remorse confutes mine honor, 100 
And I did yield to him : but the next morn be- 
times, 
His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant 
For my poor brother's head. 
Duke. This is most likely ! 

Isab. O, that it were as like as it is true ! 
Duke. By heaven, fond wretch, thou 

know'st not what thou speak' st. 
Or else thou art suborn' d against his honor 
In hateful practice. First, his integrity 
Stands without blemish. Next, it imports no 

reason 
That with such vehemency he should pursue 
Faults proper to himself : if he had so 

offended, [self 

He would have weigh' d thy brother by him- 
And not have cut him off. Some one hath set 

you on : 
Confess the truth, and say by whose advice 
Thou earnest here to complain. 

Isab. And is this all ? 

Then, you blessed ministers above. 
Keep me in patience, and with ripen'd time 
Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up 
In countenance ! Heaven shield your grace 

from woe. 
As I, thus wrong' d, hence unbelieved go ! 
Duke. I know you'ld fain be gone. An 

officer ! 120 

To prison with her ! Shall we thus permit 
A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall 
On him so near us ? This needs must be a 

practice. 
Who knew of your intent and coming hither ? 
Isab. One that I would were here, Friar 

Lodowick. 
Duke. A ghostly father, belike. Who knows 

that Lodowick ? [friar ; 

Lucio. My lord, I know him ; 'tis a meddling 

I do not like the man : had he been lay, my 

lord, [grace 

For certain words he spake against your 
In your retirement, I had swinged him 

soundly. 130 

Duke. Words against me ! this is a good 

friar, belike ! 
And to set on this wretched woman here 
Against our substitute ! Let this friar be 

found. 
Lucio. But yesternight, my lord, she and 

that friar, 
I saw them at the prison : a saucy friar, 
A very scurvy fellow. 

Fri. P. Blessed be your royal grace ! 
I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard 
Your royal ear abused. First, hath this woman 
Most wrongfully accused your substitute, 140 
Who is as free from touch or soil with her 
As she from one ungot. 

Duke. We did believe no less. 

Know you that Friar Lodowick that she speaks 

of? 



Scene i.] 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



741 



Fri. P. I know him for a man divine and 
holy ; 
Not scurvy, nor a temporary meddler, 
As he's rei)orted by this gentleman ; 
And, on my trust, a man that never yet 
Did, as he vouches, raisreport your grace. 
Liicio. My lord, most villauously ; believe 

it. 
Fri. P. AVeii, he in time may come to clear 
himself ; 150 

But at this instant he is sick, my lord. 
Of a strange fever. Upon his mere request. 
Being come to knowledge that there was com- 
plaint 
Intended 'gainst Lord Angelo, came I hither, 
To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth 

know 
Is true and false ; and what he with his oath 
And all probation will make up full clear. 
Whensoever he's convented. First, for this 

woman. 
To justify this worthy nobleman. 
So vulgarly and personally accused, 160 

Her shall you hear disproved to her ej-es, 
Till she herself confess it. 
Duke. Good friar, let's hear it. 

llsabella is <;arricd off guarded ; and 
Mariana comes fonvurd. 
Do you not smile at this. Lord Angelo ? 

heaven, the vanity of wretched fools ! 
Give us some seats. Come, cousin Angelo ; 
In this I'll be imi)artial ; be you judge 

Of your own cause. Is this the witness, friar ? 
First, let her show her face, and after speak. 

Mari. Pardon, my lord ; I will not show my 
face 
Until my husband bid me. 170 

Duke. What, are you married ? 

Mari. No, my lord. 

Duke. Are you a maid ? 

MarL No, my lord. 

Duke. A widow, then ? 

Mari. Neither, my lord. 

Duke. Why, you are nothing then : neither 
maid, widow, nor wife ? 

Lucid. My lord, she may be a punk ; for 
many of them are neither maid, widow, nor 
wife! 180 

Duke. Silence that fellow : I would he had 
some cause 
To prattle for liimself. 

Lncio. Well, my lord. 

Mari. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was 
married ; 
And I confess besides I am no maid : 

1 have known my husband ; yet my husband 
Knows not that ever he knew me. 

Litcio. He was drunk then, my lord : it can 
be no better. 

Duke. For the benefit of silence, would 
thou wert so too ! Ittl 

Lncio. Well, my lord. 

Duke. This is no witness for Lord Angelo. 

Mari. Now I come to't, my lord : 
8he that accuses him of fornication, 
In self -same maimer dotb accuse mj husbaad. 



And charges him, my lord, with sucli a time 
Wiien I'll depose I had him in mine arms 
With all the effect of love. 

Ami. Charges she more than me ? 

Mari. Not that 1 know. 200 

Duke. No ? you say your husband. 

Mari. Why, just, my lord, and that is An- 
gelo, [body, 
Wlio thinics he knows that he ne'er knew my 
Hut knows he thinks that he knows Isabel's. 

Anfi. This is a strange abuse. Let's see 
thy face. 

Mari. My husband bids me ; now I will 
unmask. [Unveiling. 

Tliis is tliat face, thou cruel Angelo, 
VVliich once thou sworest was worth the look- 
ing on ; 
This is the hand which, with a vow'd contract, 
Was fast belock'd in thhie ; this is the body 
Th:it took away the mutch from Isabel, 211 
And did supply tiiee at thy garden-house 
In lier iiuagined jierson. 

Duke. Know you this woman ? 

Lucio. Carnally, she says. 

Duke. Sirrah, no more ! 

Lncio. Enough, ray lord. 

Ang. My lord, I must confess I know this 
woman : [marriage 

And five years since there was some speecli of 
Betwixt myself and her ; which was broke off, 
Paitly for tliat her promised proportions 
Came short of coinjiosition, but in chief 220 
For that lier reputation was disvalued 
In levity : since which, time of five years 
I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard 

from her, 
Upon my faith and honor. 

Mari. Noble prince. 

As there conies light from heaven and words 

from breath, 
As there is sense in truth and truth in virtue, 
I am affianced this man's wife as strongly 
As words could malce up vows : and, my good 

lord. 
But Tuesday night last gone in's garden-house 
He knew me as a wife. As this is true, 230 
Let me in safety raise me from my knees ; 
Or else for ever be confixed here, 
A marble monument ! 

Ang. I did but smile till now: 

Now, good my lord, give me the scope of jus- 
tice ; 
My jiatience here is touch'd. I do ])erceive 
These poor informal women are no more 
But instruments of some more mightier mem- 
ber 
That sets them on : let me have way, my lord. 
To find this practice out. 

Duke, Ay, with my heart ; 

And punish them to your height of pleasure. 
Thou foolish friar, and thou pernicious woman, 
Compact with her that's gone, think'st thou 

thy oaths. 
Though they would swear down each partic- 
ular saint, 
Were testimouiea against his worth and credit 



742 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



[ACTV. 



That's seal'd in approbation ? You, Lord Es- 

calus, 
Sit with my cousin ; lend him your kind pains 
To find out this abuse, whence 'tis derived. 
There is another I'riar that set them on ; 
Let him be sent for. 

Fri. P. Would he were here, my lord ! for 
he indeed 250 

Hath set the women on to tliis complaint : 
Your provost knows tlie place where he abides 
And he may fetch him. 

Duke. Go do it instantly. [Exit Provost. 
And you, my noble and well-warranted cousin, 
Whom it concerj^ to hear this matter forth, 
Do with your iujSries as seems you best, 
lu any chastisement : I for a while will leave 

you ; 
But stir not you till you have well determined 
Upon tliese slanderers. 

Escal. My lord, we'll doit throughly. 260 
{Exit Duke. 
Siguior Lncio, did not you say you knew that 
Friar Lodowick to be a dislionest person ? 

Lucio. ' CucuUus non facit monachum :' 
honest in nothing but in his clothes ; and one 
that hath spoke most villanous speeches of the 
duke. 

Escal. We shall entreat you to abide here 
till he come and enforce them against him : 
we shall fiud this friar a notable fellow. 

Lucio. As any iu Vienna, on my word. 

Escal. Call that same Isabel' here once 
again : I would speak with her. 

[Exit an Attendant."] 
Pray you, my lord, give me leave to question; 
you siiall see how I'll handle her. 

Lucio. Not better than he, by her own re- 
port. 

Escal. Say you ? 

Lucio. Marry, sir, I think, if you handled 
her privately, she would sooner confess : per- 
chance, publicly, she'll be asliamed. 

Escal. I will go darkly to work with her. 

Lucio. That's the way; for women are light 
at midnight. 281 

Re-enter Officers loith Isabella ; and 
Provost tvith the Duke in his/riar's habit. 

Escal. Come on, mistress : here's a gentle- 
woman denies all that you have said. 

Lucio. My lord, here comes the rascal I 
spoke of ; here with the provost. 

Escal. In very good time: speak not you 
to him till we call upon you. 

Lucio. Mum. 

Escal. Come, sir : did you set these women 
on to slander Lord Augelo ? they have con- 
fessed you did 291 

Duke. 'Tis false. 

Escal. How ! know you where you are ? 

Duke. Respect to your great place ! and let 

the devil 

Be sometime honor'd for his burning throne ! 

Where is the duke ? 'tis he should hear me 

speak. [you speak : 

Escal. The duke's in us ; aod we wUl lie^ir 



Look you speak justly. 

Duke. Boldly, at least. But, 0, poor souls, 
Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox ? 
Good night to your redress ! Is the duke gone? 
Then is your cause gone too. The duke's un- 
just. 
Thus to retort your manifest appeal, 
And put your trial in the villain's mouth 
Which here you come to accuse. 
Lucio. Tliis is the rascal ; this is he I spoke 
of. [low'd friar, 

Escal. Why, thou unreverend and unhaU 
Is't not enough thou hast suborn'd these 

women 
To accuse this worthy man, but, in foul mouth 
And in the witness of his proper ear, 310 

To call him villain ? and then to glance from 

him 
To the duke himself, to tax him with injustice? 
Take him hence ; to the rack with him ! We'll 

touse you 
Joint by joint, but we will know his pui^)ose. 
What, ' unjust ' ! 

Duke. Be not so hot ; the duke 

Dare no more stretch this finger of mine than he 
Dare rack his own : his subject am I not, 
Nor here provincial. My business in this state 
Made me a looker on here in Vienna, 319 

Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble 
Till it o'er-run the stew ; laws for all faults, 
But faults so countenanced, that the sti-oug 

statutes 
Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop, 
As much in mock as mark. 
Escal. Slander to the state ! Away with 

him to prison ! 
Ang. What can you vouch against him, 
Signior Lucio ? 
Is this the man that you did tell us of ? 
Lucio. 'Tis he, my lord. Come hither, good- 
man baldpate : do you know me ? 
Duke. I remember you, sir, by the sound 
of your voice : I met you at the prison, in the 
absence of the duke. 

Lucio. 0, did j'ou so ? And do you remem- 
ber what you said of the duke ? 
Duke. Most notedly, sir. 
Lucio. Do you so, sir ? And was the duke 
a fleshmonger, a fool, and a coward, as you 
then reported him to be ? 

Duke. You must, sir, change persons with 
me, ere you make that my report : you, in- 
deed, spoke so of him ; and much more, much 
worse. 341 

Lucio. O thou damnable fellow ! Did not 
I pluck thee by the nose for thy speeches ? 

Duke. I protest I love the duke as I love 
myself. 

Ang. Hark, how the villain would close 
now, after his treasonable abuses ! 

Escal. Such a fellow is not to be talked 
withal. Away with him to prison ! Where is 
the provost ? Away with him to prison ! lay 
bolts enough upon him : let him speak no 
more. Away with those giglots too, and witlj 
tlie other coufeclerate compauiou ] 



Scene i.] 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



1i^. 



Duke. [TbPjwjosr] Stay, sir ; stiy awhile. 

An<i. What, resists he ? Help him, Lucio. 

Lucin. Come, sir ; come, sir ; come, sir ; 
foh, sir ! Why, yoii bald-i)iited, lyiiij? rascal, 
you must be liooded, must you ? Show your 
kuave's visage, with a pox to you ! show your 
sheep-biting face, and be hauged an hour ! 
Will't not off ? 3(i0 

[Palls off' (he friar's hood, and discooers 
(he Duke. 

Duke. Tliou art the first knave that e'er 
made.-it a dulce. 
First, provost, let me bail these gentle three. 
[To Lucio] Sneak not away, sir ; for the friar 

and you 
Must have a word anon. Lay hold on him. 

Lucio. This may prove worse than liauging. 

Duke. [To L.'iCiilii)<] What you Lave spoke 
I pardon : sit you down : 
We'll borrow place of him. [To Angelo] Sir, 

by your leave. 
Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence. 
That yet can do thee office ? If thou hast. 
Rely upon it till my tale be heard, 370 

Aiid hold no longer out. 

Ang. O mj- dread lord, 

I should be guiltier than my guiltiness, 
To think I can be undiscernible. 
When 1 perceive your grace, like power divine, 
Hath look'd upon my passes. Then, good 

prince. 
No longer session hold upon my shame. 
But let my trial be mine own confession : 
Immediate sentence then and sequent death 
Is all the grace 1 beg. 

Duke. Come hither, Mariana. 

Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman? 

Ang. I was, my lord. ;581 

Duke. Go take her hence, and marry her 

instantly. 

D,> you the oftice, friar ; which consummate, 

Ileturu him here again. Go with him, provost. 

[Exeunt Amjelo, Mariana, Friar Pe(er 

and Provo.$(. 

Escal. My lord, I am more amazed at his 
dishonor 
Tlian at the strangeness of it. 

Duke. Come hither, Isabel. 

Your friar is now your prince : as I was then 
Advertising and holy to your business. 
Not changing heart with habit, I am still 
Attorncy'd at your service. 

hah. 0, give me pardon, ."(X) 

That I, your vassal, have employ'd and pain'd 
Your unknown sovereignty ! 

Duke. You are pardon'd, Isabel : 

And now. dear maid, be you as free to us. 
Yourbrother'sdeath, I know,sitsat yourheart; 
And you maj- marvel why I obscured myself, 
I>aboring to .save his life, and would not rather 
Make rasli rrmonstrance of my hidden power 
Than let him so he lost. O most kind maid. 
It was the swift celerity of his death, 
"Which I did think with slower foot came on. 
That brain'd iny purpose. JJut, peace be with 
bim ; 401 i 



That life is better life, past fearing death. 
Than that which lives to fear : make it your 

comfort. 
So happy is your brother. 
Inah. " " I do, my lord. 

Re-enter Angelo, Mariana, Friar Peteh, 
atid Provost. 

Duke. For this new-married man approach- 
ing here. 
Whose salt imagination j-et hath wrong'd 
Your well defended honor, you must pardon 
For Mariana's sake : but as he adjudged j'our 

brother, — 
Being criminal, in double violation 
Of sacred chastity and of promise-breach 410 
Thereon dependent, for your brother's life, — 
The very )nercy of the law cries out 
Most audible, even from his proper tongue, 
'An Angelo for Claudio, death for death ! ' 
Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers 

leisure ; 
Like doth quit like, and measure still for 

MEASURE. 

Then, Angelo, tliy fault's thus manifested ; 
"^Vhich, though thou wouldst deny, denies thee 

vantage. 
\\e do condemn thee to the very block 
Where Claudio stoop' d to death, and with like 
haste. 420 

Away with him ! 

Mart. O my most gracious lord, 

I hope you will not mock me with a husband. 
Duke. It is your husband mock'd you with 
a husband. 
Consenting to the safeguard of your honor, 
1 tliought your marriage fit ; else imputation. 
For that he knew you, might reproach your 
life [sessions. 

And choke your good to come : for his pos- 
Although by confiscation they are ours, 
We do instate and widow you withal. 
To buy you a better husband. 

3Iari. O my dear lord, 430 

I crave no other, nor no better man. 
Duke. Never crave him ; we are definitive. 
Mari. Gentle my liege, — [Kneeling. 

Duke. You do but lose your labor. 

Away with him to death! [To Lucio] Now, 
sir, to you. [my part ', 

3f((ri. O my good lord ! Sweet I.^abel, take 
Lend me your knees, and all my life to come 
I'll lend you all my life to do you service. 
Duke. Against all sense you do importune 
her : 
Should she kneel down in mercy of this fact, 
Her brother's ghost his paved bed would 

break. 
And take her hence in horror. 

Mari. Isabel, 441 

Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel bj' me ; 
Hold up your hands, say nothing ; I'll speak 

all. 
They say, best men are moulded outof faults ; 
And, for the most, become much more the bet- 
ter 



744 



MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 



[Act v. 



For being a little bad : so may my husband. 

Isabel, will you not lend a knee ? 
Duke. He dies for Claudio's death. 

Isab. Most bounteous sir, [Kneeling. 

Look, if it please you, on this man condemn'd, 
As if my brother lived : I partly think 450 
A due sincerity goveni'd his deeds. 
Till he did look oh me : since it is so, 
Let hiin not die. My brother had but justice, 
In that he did the thing for which he died : 
For Angelo, 

His act did not o'ertake his bad intent, 
And must be buried but as an intent 
That perish'd by the way : thoughts are no 

subjects ; 
Intents but merely thoughts. 

Mari. Merely, my lord. 

Bake. Your suit's unprofitable ; stand up, 
I say. 460 

1 have bethought me of another fault. 
Provost, how came it Claudio was beheaded 
At an unusual hour ? 

Prov. It was commanded so. 

Duke. Had you a special warrant for the 
deed ? [message. 

Prov. No, my good lord ; it was by private 

Duke. For which I do discharge you of 
your office : 
Give up your keys. 

Pvoo. Pardon me, noble lord : 

I thought it was a fault, but knew it not ; 
Yet did reijent me, after more advice ; 
For testimony whereof, one in the prison, 470 
That should by private order else have died, 
I have reserved alive. 

Duke. What's he ? 

Prov. His name is Barnardine. 

Duke. I would thou liadst done so by 
Claudio. 
Go fetch him hither ; let me look upon him. 
{Exit Provost. 

Escal. I am sorry, one so learned and so 
wise 
As youj Lord Angelo, have still appear'd, 
Siiould slip so grossly, both in the heat of blood, 
And lack of temper'd judgment afterward. 

Ang. lam sorry that such sorrow I procure: 
And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart 480 
That I crave death more willingly than mercy ; 
'Tis my deserving, and I do entreat it. 

Re-enter Provost, loith Barnardine, 
Claudio muffled, and Juliet. 

Duke. Which is that Barnardine ? 
Prov. This, my lord. 

Duke. There was a friar told me of this 
man. 
Sirrah, thou art said to have a stubborn soul. 
That apprehends no further than this world, 
And squarest thy life according. Thou'rt con- 
demn'd: 
But, for those eai-thly faults, I quit them all ; 
And pray thee take this mercy to provide 489 
For better times to come. Friar, advise him ; 
I leave him to your hand. What muffled fel- 
low's that ? 



Prov. This is another prisoner that I saved, 
Who should have died when Claudio lost his 

head ; 
As like almost to Claudio as himself. 

[Unrmiffles Claudio. 
Duke. [To Isabella] If he be like your 
brother, for his sake 
Is he pardon'd ; and, for your lovely sake. 
Give me your hand and say you will be mine. 
He is my brother too : but fitter time for that. 
By this Lord Angelo perceives he's safe ; 
Methinks I see a quiclvening in his eye. 500 
Well, Angelo, j'our evil quits you well : 
Look that j"ou love your wife ; her worth 

worth j'ours. 
I find an apt remission in myself ; 
And yet here's one in place I cannot pardon. 
[To Lucio] You, sirrah, that knew me for a 

fool, a coward. 
One all of luxury, an ass, a madman ; 
Wlierein have I so deserved of you, 
That you extol me thus " 

Lucio. 'Faith, my lord, I spoke it but ac- 
cording to the trick. If you will hang me for it, 
you may ; but I had rather it would please you 
I might be whipt. 

Duke. Whipt first, sir, and hanged after. 
Proclaim it, provost, round about the city, 
Is any woman wrong'd by this lewd fellow. 
As I have heard him swear himself there's 

one 
Whom he begot with child, let her appear. 
And he shall marry her ; the nuptial tinish'd, 
Let him be whipt and liang'd. 

Lucio. I beseech your highness, do not 
marry me to a whore. Your highness said 
even now, I made you a duke : good ray lord, 
do not recompense me in making me a cuckold. 
Duke. Upon mine honor, thou shalt marry 
her. 
Thy slanders I forgive ; and therewithal 
Remit thy other forfeits. Take him to prison ; 
And see our pleasure herein executed. 

Lucio. Marrying a punk, my lord, is press- 
ing to death, whipping, and hanging. 
Duke. Slandering a prince deserves it. 530 
[Exeunt Officers ivith Lucio. 
She, Claudio, that you wrong'd, look you re- 
store. 
Joy to you, Mariana ! Love her, Angelo : 
I have confess'd her and I know her virtue. 
Thanks, good friend Esoalus, for thy much 

goodness : 
There's more behind that is more gratulate. 
Thanks, provost, for thy care and secrecy : 
We shall employ thee in a worthier place. 
Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home 
The head of Ragozine for Claudio's : 
The offence pardons itself. Dear Isabel, 540 
I have a motion much imports your good ; 
Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline, 
"Wliat's mine is yours and what is yours is 

mine. 
So, bring us to our palace ; where we'll shv^r 
Wliat's yet behind, that's meet you all should 
know. [Exeuni. 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 

(written about 1603 ?) 



INTRODUCTION. 

This play appeared in two quarto editions in the year 1609 ; on the title-page of the earlier of th« 
two it is stated to have been acted at the Globe ; the later contains a singular preface in which tho 
play is spoken of as " never stal'd with the stage, never clapper-clawed with the pahiiea of tlie vul- 
gar," and as having been published against the will of "the grand possessors." I'crliaps the play 
was printed at lirstforthe use of the theatre, with the intention of being published after having 
been represented, and the printers, against the known wishes of the proprietors of Slialiespeare's 
manuscript, anticipated the first representation and issued the quarto with the attractive announce- 
ment that it was an absolute novelty. The editors of the folio, after having decided tliat Troilus 
and Creaaulu sliould follow Rnmeo and Juliet among the tragedies, changed their minds, apparently 
uncertain how the jilay should be classed, and placed it between the Histories and Tragetlies ; tliis 
led to the cancelling of a leaf, and the tilling up of a blank space left by the alteration, with the 
Prologue to Troilus and Cressida — a prolor-ue wliich is believed by several <-ritics not to have come 
from Shakespeai-e's hand. Tliere is extreme uncertainty with respect to the «laio of the play. Dek- 
ker and Chettle were engaged in 1599 upon a play ou this subject, and, from au ent. y in the Sta- 
tioners' register, February 7, 1602 — 1603, it appears that a 7'ro(7its a»f/ O-e.ssfV/a had been arted by 
Shakespeare's company, the Lord Chamberlain's Servants. Was this Shakespeare's i)lay ? We are 
thrown back upon internal evidence to decide this question, and the internal evidence is its< If of a 
conflicting kind, and has led to opposiie conclusions. The massive worldly wisdom of L'ysses 
argues, it is supposed, iu favor of a late date, and the general tone of the play has been compared 
with that of Titnon of Athens. The fact that it does not <-ontaiu a single weak ending, jind only six 
light endings, is, however, almost decisive evidence against our placing it after either T.mon or 
Mncbelk : and the other metrical characteristics are considered, by the moat careful student of this 
class of evidence iu the case of the present play (Ilertzberg), to point tea date about ]60:5- Other 
authorities place it as late as lOOS or 1600 ; while a thiril theory (that of Verplanck and Grant White) 
attempts to solve the difficulties by supposing that it was tirst written in 160.i, and revised and en- 
larged shortly before the publication of the quarto. Parts of the play— notably the last battle of 
Hector— appear not to be by Shakespeare. The iuterpretalioii of the play itself is as dillicnlt as the 
ascertainment of the external facts of its history. With what intention, and iu wh;it sjiirit <lid 
Shakespeare write this strange comedy? AU the Greek heroes who fought against Tioy are piti- 
lessly exposed to ridicule ; Helen and Cressida are light, sensual, and heartless, for whoso sake it 
seems infatuated folly to strike a blow ; Troilus is an enthusiastic joiiiig fool ; antl even Hector, 
thou^'h valiant and generous, spends his life in a cause which he knows to be unprolitable, if not 
evil." All this is seen and said by Thersites, whose mind is made up of the scum of the fotilness of 
human life. But can .Shakespeare's view of things have becTi the same as that of Therites? The 
central theme, the young love and faith of Troilus given to one who was false and tickle, and his 
discovery of his error, lends its color to the whole play. It is the comedy of disillusion. And as 
Troilus passed through the illusion of his first love for woman, .so by middle life the world itself 
often appears like one that has not kept her promises, and who is a poor deceiver. We come to sco 
the seamy side of life ; and fronr. this mood of disillusion it is a deliverance to p.'iss on even to a dark 
and tragic view of life, to which beauty and virtue reappear, even though human weakness or hu- 
man vice may do them bitter wrong. Now such a mood of contemptuous depreciation of life may 
have come over Shake8i)eare. and spoilt him, at that time, for a writer of comedy. But for Isabella 
wo should find the coming on of this mood in Measure for Measure ; there is perhaps a touch of it in 
Hamht. At this time Troilus and Cressida may have been written, and soon afterwards Shake- 
BiM'are, rousing himself to a deeper inquest into things, may have passed on to his great series of 
tragedies. 'The materials for Troilus and Cressida were found by Shakespeare iu t^haucer's Troilus 
and Creseide, Ca.xton's translation from the French, Ileinylts, or Destruction of Troy, and perhaps 
also Lydgate's Troye Bake. 



Priam, king of Troy. 

Hector, 1 

Troilos, 

Paris, \ his sons. 

Deiphobus, J 

Helencs, I 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 

Margarelox, a bastard son of Priam. 

SENOR,h>oJ''^»conumnders. 

Calchas, a Trojan priest, taking part with 

the Greeks. 
Panparus, uiicle to Cressida. 

(745i 



746 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



[Act I. 



Agamemnon, the Grecian general. 

Menelads, his brother. 

Achilles, 

Ajax, 

NESTO? f Grecian princes. 

DiOMEDES, 

Patkoclus, 
Thersites, a deformed and scurrilous Grecian. 
Alexander, servant to Cressida. 
Servant to Troilus. 



Servant to Paris. 
Servant to Diomedes. 

Helen, wife to Menelaus. 

Andromache, wife to Hector. 

Cassandra, daughter to Priam, a prophetesB. 

Cressida, daughter to Calchas. 

Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants. 

Scene : Troy, and the Grecian camp 
before it. 



PROLOGUE. 

In Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of 

Greece 
The princes orgulous, their high blood chafed, 
Have to the port of Athens sent their ships. 
Fraught with the ministers and instruments 
Of cruel war : sixty and nine, that wore 
Their crownets regal, from the Athenian bay 
Put forth toward Phrygia ; and their vow is 

made 
To ransack Troy, within whose strong im- 
mures 
Tlie ravish'd Helen, Menelaus' queen. 
With wanton Paris sleeps ; and that's the 
quarrel. 10 

To Tenedos they come ; 

And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge 
Their warlike fraughtage : now on Dardan 

plains 
The fresh and yet unbruised Greeks do pitch 
Their brave pavilions : Priam's six-gated city, 
Dardan, and Tymbria, Helias, Chettis, Troien, 
And Antenorides, with massy staples 
And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts, 
Sperr up the sons of Troy. 
Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits, 20 
On one and other side, Trojan and Greek, 
Sets all on hazard : and hither am I come 
A prologue arm'd, but not in confidence 
Of author's pen or actor's voice, but suited 
In like conditions as our argument, 
To tell you, fair beholders, that our play 
Leaps o'er the vaunt and firstlings of those 

broils. 
Beginning in the middle, starting thence away 
To what may be digested in a play. 29 

Like or findfault ; do as your pleasures are : 
Now good or bad, 'tis but the chance of war. 



ACT I. 
Scene I. Troy. Before Priam' s palace. 

Enter Troilus armed, and Pandarus. 
Tro. Call here my varlet ; I'll unarm 
again : 
Why should I war without the walls of Troy, 
That find such cruel battle here within ? 
\ach Trojan that is master of his heart, 
v'&X biia to field ; Troilus, alas ! b^tb none- 



Pan. Will this gear ne'er be mended ? 
Tro. The Greeks are strong and skilful to 
their strength, 
Fierce to their skill and to their fierceness 

valiant ; 
But I am weaker than a woman's tear, 
Tamer than sleep, fonder than ignorance, 10 
Less valiant than the virgin in the night 
And skilless as unpractised iufancy. 

Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this: 
for my part, I'll not meddle nor make no fur- 
ther. He that will have a cake out of the wheat 
must needs tarry the grinding. 
Tro. Have I not tarried ? 
Pan. Ay, the grinding ; but you must tarry 

the bolting. 
Tro. Have I not tarried ? 
Pan. Ay, the bolting, but you must tarry 
the leavening. 20 

Tro. Still have I tarried. 
Pan. Ay, to the leavening ; but here's yet 
in the word * liereaf ter ' the kneading, the 
making of the cake, the heating of the oven 
and the baking ; nay, you must stay the cool- 
ing too, or you may chance to burn your lips. 
Tro. Patience herself, what goddess e'er 
she be. 
Doth lesser blench at sufferance than I do. 
At Priam's royal table do I sit ; 
And when fair Cressid comes into my 
thoughts.— 30 

So, traitor I ' When she comes ! ' When is she 
thence ? 
Pan. Well, she looked yesternight faii-er 
than ever I saw her look, or any woman else. 
Tro. I was about to tell thee :— when my 
heart. 
As wedged with a sigh, would rive in twain. 
Lest Hector or my father should perceive me, 
I have, as when the sun doth light a storm, 
Buried this sigh in wrinkle of a smile : 
But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming glad- 
ness. 
Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sad- 
ness. 40 
Pan. An her hair were not somewhat 
darker than Helen's — well, go to — there were 
no more comparison between the v-'omen ; 
but, for my part, she is my kinswoman ; I 
would not, as they term it, praise her : but I 
would somebody had heard her talk yester* 



SCENB II.] 



TROILU!^ AND CRESSIDA. 



747 



day, as I did. I will not dispraise your sister 
Cassandra's wit, but — 

Tro. Paudarus ! I tell thee, Pandanis, — 
When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie 

drown'd, 
Replj'^ not in how many fathoms deep 50 

They lie iudrench'd. I tell thee I am mad 
In Cressid's love : thou answer'st ' she is 

fair ; ' 
Pour' St in tlie open ulcer of ray heart 
Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her 

voice. 
Handiest in thy discourse, O, tliat her hand, 
lu whose comparison all whites are ink. 
Writing their own reproach, to whose soft 

seizure 
The cygnet's down is harsh and spirit of sense 
Hard as the palm of ploughman : this thou 

tell'st me. 
As true thou tell'st me, when I say I love 
her ; 60 

But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm. 
Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given 

me 
The knife that made it. 

Pan. I speak no more than truth. 

Tro. Thou dost not si)eak so much. 

Pan. Faith, I'll not meddle iu't. Let her be 
ee she is : if she be fair, 'tis the better for 
her ; an she be not, she has the mends in her 
own hands. 

Tro. Good Paudarus, how now, Pandarns ! 

Pan. I have had my labor for my travail ; 
ill-thought on of her and ill-thought on of 
you ; gone between and between, but small 
thanks for my labor. 

Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus? 
what, with me ? 

Pan. Because she's kin to me, therefore 
she's not so fair as Helen : an she were not 
kin to me, she would be as fair on Friday as 
Helen is on Sunday. But what care I ? I care 
not an she were a black-a-moor ; 'tis all one 
to me. 80 

Tro. Say I she is not fair ? 

Pan. I do not care whether you do or no. 
She's a fool to stay behind her father ; let her 
to the Greeks ; and so I'll tell her the next 
time I see her : for my part, I'ii meddle nor 
make uo more i' the matter. 

Tro. Paudarus,— 

Pan. Not I. 

Tro. Sweet Pandarus, — 

Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me : I 
will leave all as I found it, and there an end. 
\_Exit Pandaiiis. An alarum. 91 

Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamors 1 peace, 
rude sounds ! 
Fools on both sides 1 Helen must needs be 

fair, 
When with your blood you daily paint her 

thus. 
I cannot fight upon this argument ; 
It is too stjirved a su ject for my sword. 
But Pandarus,-^0 gods, how do you nlague 
me J 



I cannot come to Cressid but by Pandar ; 
And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo. 
As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit. 100 
Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love. 
What Cressid is, wliat Pandar, and what we? 
Her bed is India ; there she lies, a pearl : 
Between our Ilium and where she resides, 
Let it be call'd tlie wild and wandering flood, 
Ourself the merchant, and this .sailing Pandai 
Our doubtful hope, our convoy and our bark. 
Alarum. Enter ^neas. 
yEne. How now, Priuce Troilus ! where- 
fore not afield ? 
Tro. Because not there : this woman's aii» 
swer sorts. 
For womanish it is to be from thence. 110 
What news, jEneas, from the field to-day ? 
.^ne. That Paris is returned home and 

hurt. 
Tro. By whom, jEneas ? 
.lEne. Troilus, by Menelaus. 

Tro. Let Paris bleed ; 'tis biit a scar to 
scorn ; 
Paris is gored with Menelaus' horn. [Alarum. 
JSne. Hark, what good sport is out of 

town to-day ! 
Tro. Better at home, if ' would I might ' 
were ' may.' 
But to the sport abroad : are you boiuid 
thither ? 
^7ie. in all swift haste. 
Tro. Come, go we then together. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. The same. A street. 
Enter Cressida and Alexander. 

Cres. Who were those went by ? 

Alex. Queen Hecuba and Helen. 

Cres. And whither go they ? 

Alex. Up to the eastern tower, 

Whose height commands as subject all the 

vale. 
To see the battle. Hector, whose patience 
Is, as a virtue, fix'd, to-day was moved : 
He chid Andromache and struck his armorer, 
And, like as there were husbandry in war, 
Before the sun rose he was harness'd light. 
And to the field goes he ; where every flower 
Did. as a ju-ophet, weep what it foresaw 10 
In Hector's wrath. 

Cres. What was his cause of anger ? 

Alex. The noise goes, this : there is among 
the Greeks 
A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector ; 
They call him Ajax. 

Cres. Good ; and what of him ? 

Alex. They say he is a very man per se, 
And stands alone. 

Cres. So do all men, imless thej' are drunk, 
sick, or have no legs. 

Alex. This man, lady, hath robbed many 
beasts of their particular additions ; he is as 
valiant as the lion, churlish as the bear, slow 
as the elephant : a man into whom nature 
iiath no crowded humors that his valor 13 



748 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



[Act s 



crushed into folly, liis folly sauced with dis- 
cretion : tliere is no man hath a virtue that 
he hath not a glimpse of, nor anj' man an at- 
taint hut he carries some stain of it : he is 
melancholy without cause, and merry against 
the hair : he hath the joints of every thing, 
but everything so out of joint that he is a gouty 
Briareus, many hands and no use, or pui- 
blind Argus, all eyes and no sight. 31 

Ores. But how should this man, that makes 
me smile, make Hector angry ? 

Alex. They say he yesterday coped Hector 
in the battle and struck him down, the dis- 
dain and shame whereof hath ever since kept 
Hector fasting and waking. 

Cres. Who comes here ? 

Alex. Madam, your uncle Pandarus. 

Enter Pandakus. 

Cres. Hector's a gallant man. 40 

Alex. As may be in the world, lady. 

Pan. What's that ? what's that ? 

Cres. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus. 

Pan. Good morrow, cousin Cressid : what 
do you talk of ? Good morrow, Alexander. 
How do you, cousiu ? When were you at 
Ilium ? 

Cres. This morning, uncle. 

Pan. What were you talking of when I 
came ? Was Hector armed and gone ere ye 
came to Ilium ? Helen was not np, was she ? 

Cres. Hector was gone, but Helen was not 
up. 

Pan. Even so : Hector was stirring early. 

Cres. That were we talking of, and of his 
anger. 

Pan. Was he angry ? 

Cres. So he says here. 

Pan. True, he was so : I know the cause 
too : he'll lay about him to-day, I can tell 
them that : and there's Troilus will not come 
far behind him ; let them take heed of Troi- 
lus, I can tell them that too. Gl 

Cres. What, is he angry too ? 

Pan. Who, Troilus ? Troilus is the better 
man of the two. 

Cres. Jupiter ! there's no comparison. 

Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hec- 
tor ? Do you know a man if you see him ? 

Cres. Ay, if I ever saw him before and 
knew him. 

Pan. Well, I say Troilus is Troilus. 70 

Cres. Then you say as I say ; for, I am 
Bure, he is not Hector. 

Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus in some 
degrees. 

Cres. 'Tis just to each of them ; he is him- 
self. 

Pan. Himself ! Alas, poor Troilus I I would 
be were. 

Cres. So he is. 

Pan. Condition, I had gone barefoot to 
India. 80 

Cres. He is not Hector. 

Pan. Himself ! no, he's not himself : would 
»' were hiuaaelf I Well, the gods are above ; 



time must friend or end : well, Troilus, well : 
I would my heart were in her body. No, Hec- 
tor is not a better man than Troilus. 

Cres. Excuse me. 

Pan. He is elder. 

Cres. Pardon me, pardon me. 89 

Pan. Th' otlier's not come to't ; you shall 
tell me another tale, when th' other's come 
to't. Hector shall not have his wit this year. 

Cres. He shall not need it, if he have his 
own. 

Pan. Nor his qualities. 

Cres. No matter. 

Pan. Nor his beauty. 

Cres. 'Twould not become him ; his own's 
better. 

Pan. You have no judgment, niece : Helen 
herself swore th' other day, that Troilus, for 
a brown favor — for so 'tis, I must confess,— 
not brown neither, — 

Ci'es. No, but brown. 

Pan. 'Faith, to say truth, brown and not 
brown. 

Cres. To say the truth, true and not true 

Pan. She praised his complexion above 
Paris. 

Cres. Why, Paris hath color enough. 

Pan. So he has. 109 

Cres. Then Troilus should have too much : 
if she praised him above, his complexion is 
higher than his ; he having color enough, and 
the other higher, is too flaming a praise for a 
good complexion. I had as lief Helen's golden 
tongue had commended Troilus for a copper 
nose. 

Pan. I swear to you, I think Helen loves 
him better than Paris. 

Cres. Then she's a merry Greek indeed. 

Pan. Nay, I am sure she does. She came 
to him th' other day into the compassed win- 
dow, — and, you know, he has not past three 
or four hairs on his chin, — 

Cres. Indeed, a tapster's arithmetic may 
soon bring his particulars therein to a total. 

Pan. Why, he is very young : and yet will 
he, within three pound, lift as much as his 
brother Hector. 

Cres. Is he so young a man and so old a 
lifter ? 129 

Pan. But to prove to you that Helen loves 
him : she came and puts me her white hand 
to his cloven chin — 

Cres. Juno have mercy ! how came it 
cloven ? 

Pan. Why, you know, 'tis dimpled : I 
think his smiling becomes him better than 
any man in all Phrygia. 

Cres. 0, he smiles valiantly. 

Pan. Does he not ? 

Cres. yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn. 

Pan. Why, go to, then : but to prove to 
you t'nat Helen loves Troilus,— 141 

Cres. Troilus will stand to the proof, if 
you'll prove it so. 

Pan. Troilus ! why, he esteems her no 
more than I esteem an addle egg. 



ScENi! II.] 



TROILUS AND ORES SWA. 



74S 



Cres. If you love an addle egg as well as 
you love ai\ idle head, you would eat chickens 
i' the shell. 

Pan. I cannot choose but laugh, to think 
how she tickled his chin : indeed, she has a 
marvellous white hand, I must needs con- 
fess,— 151 

Cres. Without the rack. 

Pan. And she takes upon her to spy a 
white hair on his chin. 

Cres. Ahis, poor chin ! many a wart is 
richer. 

Pa)i. But there was such laughing ! Queen 
Hecuba laughed that her eyes ran o'er. 

Cres. With mill-stones. 

Pan. And Cassandra laughed. 

Cres. But there was more temperate fire 
under the pot of her eyes : did her eyes run 
o'er too? 161 

Pan. And Hector laughed. 

Cres. At what was all tliis laughing ? 

Pan. Marry, at the white hair that Helen 
spied on Troilus' chin. 

Cres. An't had been a green hair, I should 
have laughed too. 

Pun. They laughed not so much at the 
liair as at his pretty answer. 

CVcs. What was his answer ? 170 

Pan. Quoth she, ' Here's but two and fiftj' 
hairs on your chin, and one of them is white.' 

Cres. This is her question. 

Pun. That's true ; make no question of 
that. ' Two and fifty hairs,' quoth he, 'and 
one white : that wliite hair is my father, and 
all the rest are his sons.' ' Jupiter !' quoth slie, 
which of tliese hairs is Paris, n y husband ? ' 
'The forked one,' quoth he,' pluck't out, and 
give it him. ' But there was such laughing! 
and Helen so blushed, and Paris so chafed, 
and all the rest so laughed, that it passed. 

Cres. So let it now ; for it has been a great 
>vhile going by. 

Pan. Well, cousin, I told you a thing yes- 
terday ; think on' t. 

Cres. So I do. 

Pan. I'll be sworn 'tis true ; he will weep 
you, an 'twere a man born in April. 189 

Cres. And I'll spring up in his tears, an 
'twere a nettle against Mav. 

[A reti'cat sounded. 

Pan. Hark ! they are coming from the 
field : shall we stand up here, and see them as 
they pass toward Ilium ? good niece, do, 
sweet niece Cressida. 

Cres. At your pleasure. 

Pan. Here, here, here's an excellent i)lace ; 
here we may see most bravely : I'll tell you 
them all by their names as they pass by ; but 
mark Troilus above the rest. 200 

Cres. Speak not 30 loud. 

JiNEAs passes. 

Pan. That'* iEneas: is not that a brave 
man ? he's one of the flowers of Troy, I can 
tell you : but mark Troilus ; you shall see 
fmoo. 



Antenor passes. 

Cres. Who's that ? 

Pan. That's Antenor : he has a shrewd 
wit, I can tell you ; and he's a man good 
enough : he's one o' the soundest judgments 
in Troy, whosoever, and a proper man of per- 
son. When comes Troilus? I'll show you 
Troilus anon : if he see me, you shall see him 
nod at me. 

Cres. Will he give you the nod ? 

Pan. You shall see. 

Cres. If he do, the rich shall have more. 



Hector pusses. 
:tn. That's Hector, that, that, look you. 
; there's a fellow ! Go thy way. Hector I 



Par 
that 

There's a brave man, niece. O brave Hector ! 
Look how he looks ! there's a countenance I 
is't not a brave man ? 

Cres. O, a brave man ! 220 

Pan. Is a' not ? it does a man's heart good. 
Look you what hacks are on his helmet ! 
look you yonder, do you see ? look you there: 
there's no jesting ; there's laying on, take'toff 
who will, as they say : there be hacks ! 

Cres. Be those with swords ? 

Pan. Swords ! any thing, he cares not ; 
an the devil come to him, it's all one : by God's 
lid, it does one's heart good. Yonder comes 
Paris, yonder comes Paris. 230 

Paris passes. 
Look ye yonder, niece ; is't not a gallant man 
too, is't not ? Why, this is brave now. Who 
said he came hurt home to-day ? he's not 
hurt : why, this will do Helen's heart good 
now, ha ! Would I could see Troilus now ! You 
shall see Troilus anon. 

Helenus jxisses. 

Cres. Who's that ? 

Pan. That's Helenus. I marvel where 
Troilus is. That's Helenus. I think he went 
not forth to-day. That's Helenus. _ 240 

Cres. Can Helenus fight, uncle? 

Pan. Helenus ? no. Yes, he'll fight in- 
different well. I marvel where Troilus is. 
Hark ! do you not hear the people cry ' Troi- 
lus '? Heleiuis is a priest. 

Cres. What sneaking fellow comes yonder ? 

Troilus passes. 

Pan. Where ? yonder ? that's Deiphobus. 
'Tis Troilus ! there's a man, niece ! Hem I 
Brave Troilus ! the prince of chivalry ! 
Cres. Peace, for shame, peace ! 250 

Pan. Mark him ; note him. brave 
Troilus ! Look well upon him, niece : look 
you how his sword is bloodied, and his helm 
more hacked than Hector's, and how lie looks, 
and how he goes ! O admirable youth ! he 
ne'er saw three and twenty- Go thy way, 
Troilus, go tliy way ! Had I a sister were a 
grace, or a daughter a goddess, he should 
take his choice. admirable man 1 Pari« f 



t50 



TROILUS Am CMSSIDA. 



fAOTt 



Paris is dirt to him ; and, I warrant, Helen, to 
change, would give an eye to boot. 260 

Cres. Here come more. 

Forces pass. 

Pan. Asses, fools, dolts! chaff and bran, 
chaff and bran ! porridge after meat ! I 
could live and die i' the eyes of Troll us. 
Ne'er look, ne'er look : the eagles are gone: 
crows and daws, crows and dtiws ! I had 
rather be such a man as Troilus than Aga- 
memnon and all Greece. 

Cres. There is among the Greeks Achilles, 
a better man than Troilus. 269 

Pun. Achilles ! a drayman, a jiorter, a very 
camel. 

Ores. Well, well. 

Pan. ' Well, well ! ' Wliy, have you any 
discretion ? have you any eyes ? Do you 
know what a man is ? Is not birth, beauty, 
good shape, discourse, manhood, learning, 
gentleness, virtue, youth, liberality, and such 
like, the spice and salt that season a man ? 

Cres. Ay, .a minced man : and then to be 
baked withi no date in the pie, for then the 
man's date's out. 281 

Pan. You ars such a woman ! one knows 
not at what ward you lie. 

Cres. Upon my back, to defend ray belly ; 
upon my wit, to defend my wiles ; upon my 
secrecy, to defend mine honesty ; my mask, to 
defend my beauty ; and you, to defend all 
these : and at all these wards I lie, at a thou- 
sand watches. 

Pan. Say one of your watches. 290 

Cres. Nay, I'll watch you for that ; and 
that's one of the chief est of them too : if I 
cannot ward what I would not have hit, I can 
watch you for telling how I took tlie blow ; 
unless it swell past hiding, and then it's past 
watching. 

Pan. You are such another ! 
J?7UerTKOiLUs's Boy. 

Boy. Sir, my lord would instantly speak 
with you. 

Pan. Where ? 

Boy. At your own house ; there he unarms 
him. 300 

Pan. Good boy, tell him I come. [Exit hoy.'] 
I doubt he be hurt. Fare ye well, good niece. 

Cres. Adieu, uncle. 

Pan. I'll be with you, niece, by and by. 

Cres. To bring, uncle ? 

Pan. Ay, a token from Troilus. 

Cres. By the same token, you are a bawd. 
[Exit Pandarus. 
Words, vows, gifts, tears, and love's full 

sacriiice. 
He offers in another's enterprise : 
But more in Troilus thousand fold I see 310 
Than in the glass of Pandar's praise maybe ; 
Yet hold I off. Women are angels, wooing : 
Things won are done ; joy's soul lies in the 
doing. [not this : 

That she beloved knows uought that knows 
Men prize the thing uugaiu'd more than it is : 



That she was never yet that ever knew 
Love got so sweet as when desire did sue. 
Therefore this maxim out of love I teach : 
Achievement is command ; ungain'd, beseech: 
Then though my heart's content firm love 
doth bear, 320 

' lothing of that shall from mine eyes appear. 

[Exeunt 

Scene III. The Grecian camp. Before 

Agamemnon's tent. 

Sennet. Enter Agamemnon, Nestor, UIj¥S- 

SES, Menelaus, and others. 

Agam. Princes, 

What grief hath set the jaundice on your 

cheeks ? 
The ample proposition that hope makes 
In all designs begun on earth below 
Fails in the promised largeness : checks and 

disasters 
Grow in the vems of actions highest rear'd, 
As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap, 
Infect the sound pine and divert his grain 
Tortive and errant from his course of growth. 
Nor, princes, is it matter new to us 10 

That we come short of our suppose so far 
That after seven years' siege yet Troy walls 

stand ; 
Sith every action that hath gone before, 
Wliereof we have record, trial did draw 
Bias and thwart, not answering the aim, 
And that unbodied figure of the thought 
That gave' t surmised shape. Why then, you 

princes. 
Do you with cheeks abashed behold our 

works, 
And call them shames ? which are indeed 

nought else 
But the protractive trials of great Jove 20 
To find persistive constancy in men : 
The fineness of which metal is not found 
In fortune's love ; for then the bold ftnd 

coward. 
The wise and fool, the artist and unread. 
The hard and soft seem all afflned and kin : 
But, in the wind and tempest of her frown, 
Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan. 
Puffing at all, winnows the light away ; 
And what hath mass or matter, by itself 
Lies rich in virtue and unmingled. 30 

Nest. With due observance of thy godlike 

seat. 
Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply 
"Thy latest words. In the reproof of chance 
Lies the true proof of men : the sea being 

smooth, 
How many sh.allow bauble boats dare sail 
Upon ner ]jatient breast, making their way 
With those of nobler bulk ! 
But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage 
The gentle Thetis, and anon behold 
The strong-ribb'd bark through liquid moun- 
tains cut, 40 
Bounding between the two moist elements. 
Like Perseus' hoise ; Where's then the saucy 

boat 



ScE}*6 n\.\ 



TROTLUS AND CliESSTDA. 



%1 



Whose weak nntimber'd sides but even now 
Co-rivall'd greatness ? Either to harbor lied, 
Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so 
Doth valor's show and valor's worth divide 
In storms of fortune ; for in her ray and 

brightness 
The lierd hath more annoyance by the breeze 
Than by the tiger ; but when the splitting 

wind 
Ma'Kes flexible the knees of knotted oaks, 50 
And flies fled under shade, why, then the 

thing of courage 
As roused Avith rage with rage doth sympa- 
thize, 
And with an accent tuned in selfsame key 
Retorts to chiding fortune. 

Ulyss. Agamemnon, 

Thou great commander, nerve and bone of 

Greece, 
Heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit, 
In whom the tempers and the minds of all 
Should be shut up, hear what Ulysses speaks. 
Besides tlie ajiplause and apjirobation 
To which, [7b A[;amemno7i] most mighty for 
thy place and sway, 60 

[To Nestor] And thou most reverend for thy 

stretch'd-out life 
I give to both your speeches, wliich were such 
As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece 
Shoidd hold up liigh in brass, and such again 
As venerable Nestor, hatch'd in silver. 
Should with a bond of air, strong as the axle- 
tree 
On which heaven rides, knit all the Greekish 

ears 
To his exiierienceu tongue, yet let it please 

both, 
Thou great, and wise, to hear Ulysses speak. 
A'jam. Speak, prince of Ithaca ; and be't 
of less expect 70 

That matter needless, of importless burden, 
Divide thy lips, than we are contident, 
When rank Thersites opes his mastic jaws. 
We shall hear music, wit and oracle. 

Ulyss. Troy, yet upon his basis, had been 
down. 
And the great Hector's sword had lack'd a 

master. 
But for these instances. 
The specialty of rule hath been neglected . 
And, look, how many Grecian tents do stand 
Hollow upon this plain, so many hollow fac- 
tions. 80 
When that the general is not like the hive 
To whom the foragers shall all repair. 
What honey is expected ? Degree being viz- 
ard ed, 
The unworthiest shows as fairly in the ma.sk. 
The heavens themselves, the planets and this 

centre 
Observe degree, priority and place, 
Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, 
Office and custom, in all line of order ; 
And therefore is the glorious planet Sol 
In noble eminence enthroned and s])hered 90 
Amidst the other ; whose medicinable eye 



Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil. 

And posts, like the commandment of a king, 

Sans check to good and bad : but when the 

planets 
In evil mixture to disorder wander, 
What plagues and what portents ! what mu- 
tiny ! 
What raging of the sea ! shaking of earth ! 
Commotion in the winds ! frights, changes, 

horrors. 
Divert and crack, rend and deracinat 
The unity and married calm of states 100 

Quite from their fixure ! O, when degree is 

shaked, 
Which is the ladder to all high designs. 
Then enterprise is sick ! How could commu- 
nities, 
Degrees in schools and brotherlioods in cities, 
Peaceful commerce from dividable shores,* 
The primogenitive and due of birth, 
Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, laurels, 
But by degree, stand in authentic place ? 
Take but degree away, untune that string, 
And, hark, what discord follows ! each thing 
meets lio 

In mere oppugnancy : the bounded waters 
Should lift their bosoms higher than the 

shores 
And make a sop of all this solid globe : 
Strength should be lord of imbecility. 
And the rude son should strike his father 

dead ; 
Force should be right ; or rather, right and 

wrong. 
Between whose endless jar justice resides. 
Should lose their names, and so should justice 

too. 
Then every thing includes itself in power. 
Power into will, will into appetite ; 120 

And appetite, an universal Avolf, 
So doubly seconded with will and power, 
Must make perforce an universal prey. 
And last eat up himself. Great Agamemnon, 
This chaos, when degree is suffocate, 
Follows the choking. 
And this neglection of degree it is 
That by a pace goes backward, with a pur- 
pose 
It hath to climb. The general's disdain'd 
By him one step below, he by the next, 130 
That next by him beneath ; so every step, 
Examjiled by the first pace that is sick 
Of his superior, grows to an envious fever 
Of pale and bloodless emulation : 
And 'tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot, 
Not her own sinews. To end a tsileof length, 
Troy in our weakness stands, not in her 
strength. [cover'd 

Nest. Most wisely hath Ulysses here dis- 
The fever Mhereof all our power is sick. 
A;iiim. The nature of the sickness found, 
Ulysses, 140 

What is the remedy ? 

UlysR. The great Achilles, whom opinion 
crowns 
The sinew and the forehand of our host, 



762 



TROTLUS AND CRESStDA. 



{Act t. 



Having his ear full of his airy fame, 
Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent 
Lies mocking our designs : with him Patro- 

clus 
Upon a lazy bed the livelong day 
Breaks scurril jests. 

And with ridiculous and awkward action, 
Which, slanderer, he imitation calls, 150 

He pageants us. Sometime, great Agamem- 
non, 
Thy topless deputation he puts on, 
And, like a strutting jjlayer, whose conceit 
Lies in his hamstring, aud doth think it rich 
To hear the wooden dialogue aud sound 
'Twixthis stretch' d footing and the scaffold- 
age,— 
Such to-be-pitied aud o'er-wrested seeming 
He acts thy greatness in : and when hespeaks; 
'Tis like a chime a-mendiug ; with terms un- 

squared, 
Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon 
dropp'd, 1(50 

Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stuff 
The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling. 
From his deep chest laughs out a loud ap- 
plause ; 
Cries ' Excellent ! 'tis Agamemnon just. 
Now play me Nestor ; hem, and stroke thy 

beard. 
As he being drest to some oration.' 
That's done, as near as the extremest ends 
Of parallels, as like as Vulcan aud his wife : 
Yet god Achilles still cries ' Excellent ! 
'Tis Nestor right. Now play him me, Patro- 
clus, 170 

Arming to answer in a night alarm.' 
And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age 
Must be the scene of mirth ; to cough and 

spit. 
And, with a palsy-fumbling on his gorget, 
Shake in and out the rivet : and at this sport 
Sir Valor dies ; cries '0,> enough, Patroclus ; 
Or give me ribs of steel ! I shall split all 
In pleasure of my spleen.' And in this fash- 
ion, 
All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes, 
Severals and generals of grace exact, 180 

Achievements, plots, orders, preventions. 
Excitements to the field, or speech for truce. 
Success or loss, what is or is not, serves 
As stuff for theae two to make paradoxes. 

Nest. And in the imitation of these twain — 
Who, .IS Ulysses says, opinion crowns 
With an imperial voice — many are infect. 
Ajax is grown self-will'd, and bears his head 
In such a rein, in full as proud a place 
As broad Achilles ; keeps his tent like him ; 
Makes factious feasts ; rails on our state of 
war, 191 

Bold as an oracle, and sets Thersites, 
A slave whose gall coins slanders like a mint. 
To match us in comparisons with dirt. 
To weaken aud discredit ourex]30sure. 
How rank soever rounded in with danger. 
Ulyss. They tax our policy, and call it 
cowardice, 



Count wisdom as no member of the war, 
Forestall prescience, and esteem no act 19S 
But that of hand : the still and mental parts, 
That do contrive how many hands shall strike, 
When fitness calls them on, and know by 

measure 
Of their observant toil the enemies' weight,— 
Why, this hath not a finger's dignity : 
They call this bed-work, mappery, closet-war; 
So that the ram that batters down the wall. 
For the great swing and rudeness of his poise. 
They place before his hand that made the en- 
gine, 
Or those that with the fineness of their souls • 
By reason guide his execution. 210 

Nest. Let this be granted, and Achilles' 
horse 
Makes many Thetis' sons. [A tucket. 

Agam. What trumpet ? look, Menelaus. 

Men. From Troy. 

Enter jEnbas. 

Agam. What would you 'fore our tent ? 
yEne. Is this great Agamemnon's tent, I 

pray you ? 
Agam. Even this. 

yEne. May one, that is a herald and a 

prince. 

Do a fair message to his kingly ears ? 

Agam. With surety stronger than Achilles' 

arm 220 

'Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one 

voice 
Call Agamemnon head and general 
^Ene. Fair leave and large security. How 
may 
A stranger to those most imperial looks 
Know them from eyes of other mortals ? 
Agam. How I 

.^ne. Ay ; 
I ask, that I might waken reverence. 
And laid the cheek be ready with a blush 
Modest as morning when she coldly eyes 
The youthful Plicebus : 230 

Which is that god in office, guiding men ? 
Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon ? 
Agam. Tliis Trojan scorns us ; or the men 
of Troy 
Are ceremonious courtiers. 
yEne. Courtiers as free, as debonair, un- 
arm' d, [peace : 
As bending angels ; that's their fame in 
But when they would seem soldiers, they have 

galls. 
Good arms, strong joints, true swords ; and, 

Jove's accord. 
Nothing so full of heart. But peace, ^Eneas, 
Peace, Trojan ; lay thy finger on thy lips! 240 
The worthiness of praise distains his worth, 
If that the praised himself bring the praise 

forth : 
But what the repining enemy commends, 
That breath fame blows ; that praise, sole 
pure, transcends. 
Agam. Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself 
.£neas ? 



Scene in.] 



TROILUS A^D CRESSIDA. 



758 



^ne. Ay, Greek, that is my name. 

Again. What's your affair, I pray you ? 

^ne. Sir, pardou ; 'tis for Agamemuou's 
eai's. 

Again. He hears uaught privately tliat 
couies from Troy. 

j^ne. Nor I from Troy come not to whisper 
him : 250 

I bring a trumpet to awake his ear, 
To set his sense on tlie attentive bent, 
And then to speak. 

A(/am. Speak frankly as the wind ; 

It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour : 
That thou shalt know. Trojan, he is awake. 
He tells thee so himself. 

^ue. Trumpet, blow loud. 

Send thy brass voice through all these lazy 

tents ; 
And every Greek of mettle, let him know. 
What Troy means fairly shall be spoke alond. 
[Tnanpet sounds. 
We have, great Agamemnon, here in Troy 260 
A prince call'd Hector, — Priam is his father, — 
Who in this dull and long-continued truce 
Is rust}^ grown : he bade me take a trumpet. 
And to this purpose speak. Kings, princes, 

lords ! 
If there be one among the fair'st of Greece 
That holds his honor liigher than his ease, 
That seeks his praise more than he fears his 

peril. 
That knows his valor, and knows not his fear. 
That loves his mistress more than in confes- 
sion, 
With truant vows to her own lips he loves. 
And dare avow her beauty and her worth 271 
In other arms than hers, — to him this chal- 
lenge. 
Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks, 
Shall make it good, or do his best to do it. 
He hath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer. 
Than ever Greek did compass in his arms, 
And will to-morrow witli his trumj)et call 
Midway between your tents and walls of Troy, 
To rouse a Grecian that is true in love : 
If any come, Hector shall honor him ; 280 
If none, he'll say in Troy when he retires, 
The Grecian dames are sunburnt and not 

worth 
The splinter of a lance. Even so much. 

Ayam. This shall be told our lovers, Lord 
^neas ; 
If none of them have soul in such a kind. 
We left them all at home : but we are soldiers ; 
And may that soldier a mere recreant prove. 
That means not, hath not, or is not in love ! 
If tlien one is, or hath, or means to be, 
That one meets Hector : if none else, I am he. 

Kest. Tell him of Nestor, one that was a 

man 291 

Wlien Hector's grandsire suck'd : he is old 

now ; 
But if there be not in our Grecian host 
On3 noble man that hath one spark of fire, 
To answer for his lo\ e, tell him from me 
I'll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver 



And in my vantbrace put this wither'd brawn, 
And meeting him will tell him that my lady 
VViis fairer than his grandam and as chaste" 
As may be in the world : his youth in flood, 
I'll prove this truth with my tliree drojjs of 
blood. 301 

yEwe. Now heavens forbid such scarcity of 

youth ! 
Ulyss, Amen. 

Ayam. Fair Lord JLneas, let me tou<;h your 
hand ; 
To our pavilion shall I lead you, sir. 
Achilles shall have word of this intent ; 
So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to 

tent : 
Yourself shall feast with us before j'ou go 
And find the welcome of a noble foe. 

[J^xcitnt all but Ulysses and Nestor. 
Ulys. Nestor ! 310 

Nest. What says Ulysses? 
Ulyss. 1 have a young conception in my 
brain ; 
Be you my time to bring it to some shape. 
Nest. What is't ? 
Ulyss. This 'tis : 
Blunt wedges rive hard knots : the seeded 

pride 
That hath to this maturity blown up 
In rank Achilles must or now be cropp'd. 
Or, shedding, breed a nurserj' of like evil, 
To overbulk us all. 
Nest. Well, and how ? 320 

Ulyss. This challenge that the gallant Hec- 
tor sends. 
However it is spread in general name. 
Relates in purpose only to Achilles. 
Nest. The purpose is perspicuous even as 
substance, 
Whose grossness little characters sum up : 
And, in the publication, make no strain, 
But that Achilles, were his brain as barren 
As banks of Libya,— though, Apollo knows, 
'Tis dry enough, — will, Avith great speed of 

judgment, 
Ay, with celerity, find Hector's puri^ose 330 
Pointing on him. 

Ulyss. And wake him to the answer, think 

you ? 
Nest. Yes, 'tis most meet : whom maj- you 
• else oppose, 
That can from Hector bring his honor off. 
If not Achilles ? Though't be a sportful com- 
bat. 
Yet in the trial much opinion dwells ; 
For here the Trojans fciste our dear'st repute 
With their finest palate : and trust to me, 

Ulysses, 
Our imputation shall be oddly poised 
In this wild action ; for the success, 340 

Although particular, shall give a scantling 
Of good or bad unto the general ; 
And in such indexes, although small pricks 
To their subsequent volumes, there is seen 
The baby figure of the giant mass 
Of things to come at large. It is suijpo(*4 
He that meets Hector issues from our choic« 
48 



754 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



[Act II. 



And choice, being mutual act of all our souls, 
Makes merit her election, and doth boil. 
As 'twere from us all, a man distill'd 350 

Out of our virtues ; who miscarrying. 
What heart receives from hence the conquer- 
ing part, 
To steel a strong opinion to themselves ? 
Which entertain'd, limbs are his insLiMiments, 
In no less working than are swords and bows 
Directive by the limbs. 

Ulyss. Give pardon to my speech : 
Therefore 'tis meet Achilles meet not Hector. 
Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares, 
And think, perchance, they'll sell ; if not, 360 
The lustre of the better yet to show. 
Shall show the better. Do not consent 
That ever Hector and Acliilles meet ; 
For both our honor and our shame in this 
Are dogg'd with two strange followers. 
Nest. I see them not with my old eyes : 

what are they ? 
Viyss. What glory our Achilles shares from 
Hector, 
Were he not proud, we all should share with 

him : 
But he already is too insolent ; 
And we were better parch in Afric sun 370 
Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes. 
Should he 'scape Hector fair: if he were foil'd, 
Why then, we did our main opinion crush 
In taint of our best man. No, make a lottery ; 
And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw 
The sort to fight with Hector : among ourselves 
Give him allowance for the better man ; 
For that will physic the great Myrmidon 
Who broils in loud applause, and make him 

fall 
His crest that prouder than blue Iris bends. 
If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off, 381 
We'll dress him up in voices : if he fail. 
Yet go we under our opinion still 
That we have better men. But, hit or miss, 
Our project's life this shape of sense assumes : 
Ajax employ'd plucks down Achilles' plumes. 

Nest. Ulysses, 
- Now I begin to relish thy advice ; 
And I will give a taste of it forthwith 
To Agamemnon : go we to him straight. 390 
Two curs shall tame each other: pride alone 
Must tarre the mastiffs on, as 'twere their 
bone. [Exeunt. 



ACT 11. 



Scene I. A part of the Grecian camp. 
Enter Ajax and Thersites. 

Ajax. Thersites ! 

Ther. Agamemnon, how if he had boils ? 
full, all over, generally ? 

Ajax. Thersites ! 

TTier. And those boils did run ? say so : did 
not the general run then ? were uot that a 
botchy core ? 

4jdx, Dog I 



Ther. Then would come some matter from 
him ; I see none now. 10 

Ajax. Thou bitch-wolf's son, canst thou 
uot hear ? [Beating him'\ Feel, then. 

Tlier. The plague of Greece upon thee, thou 
mougrel beef-witted lord ! 

Ajax. Speak then, thou vinewedst leaven, 
speak : I will beat thee into handsomeness. 

Ther. I shall sooner rail thee into wit and 
holiness : but, I think, thy horse will sooner 
con an oration than thou learn a prayer with- 
out book. Thou canst strike, canst thou? a 
red murrain o' thy jade's tricks ! 21 

Ajax. Toadstool, learn me the proclama- 
tion. 

Ther. Dost thou think I have no sense, thou 
strikest me thus ? 

Ajax. The proclamation ! 

Ther. Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think. 

Ajax. Do not, porpeutine, do uot : my 
fingers itch. 

Tlier. I would thou didst itch from head to 
foot and I had the scratching of thee ; I M'ould 
make thee the loathsomest scab in Greece. 
When thou art forth in the incursions, thou 
strikest as slow as another. 

Ajax. I say, the proclamation ! 

Ther. Thou grumblest and railest every 
hour on Achilles, and thou art as full of envy 
at his greatness as Cerberus is at Proserpina's 
beautj', ay, that thou barkest at him. 

Ajax. Mistress Thersites ! 

Ther. Thou shouldest strike him. 40 

Ajax. Cobloaf ! 

Ther. He would pun thee into shivers with 
his fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuit. 

Ajax. [Beating hi7n] You whoreson cur ! 

Ther. Do, do. ' 

Ajax. Tliou stool for a witch ! 

Ther. Ay, do, do ; tliou sodden-witted lord! 
thou hast no more brain than I have in mine 
elbows ; an assinego may tutor thee : thou 
scurvy-valiant ass ! thou art here but to thrash 
Trojans ; and thou art bought and sold among 
those of any wit, like a barbarian slave. If 
thou use to beat me, I will begin at thy heel, 
and tell what thou art by inches, thou thing of 
no bowels, tliou ! 

Ajax. You dog ! 

Ther. You scurvy lord ! 

Ajax. [Beating him] You cur ! 

Ther. Mars his idiot ! do, rudeness ; do, 
camel ; do, do. 59 

Eyiter Achilles and Patkoclus. 

Achil. Why, how now, Ajax ! wherefore 
do you thus ? How now, Thersites ! what's 
the 'matter, man ? 

Ther. You see him there, do you ? 

Achil. Ay; what's the matter ? 

Ther. Nay, look upon him. 

Achil. So 1 do: what's the matter ? 

Ther. Nay, but regard him well. 

Achil. ' Well ! ' why, I do so. 

Ther, But yet you look not well upon him; 
for whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax. 



SCENK II.] 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



755 



Achil. I know that, fool. 71 

Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himself. 

Ajax. Therefore I beat thee. 

Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit 
he utters ! his evasions have ears i.ius long. I 
have bobbed his brain more tlian he has beat 
my bones : I will buy nine sparrows lor a 
penny, and his pia mater is not worth the 
ninth part of a sparrow. Tliis lord, Achilles, 
Ajax, who wears his wit in his belly and his 
guts in his head, I'll tell you what I say of 



him 
Achil. 
Ther. 



81 



What ? . 
I say, this Ajax — 

\Ajax offers to beat him- 
Achil. Nay, good Ajax. 
Ther. Has not so much wit — • 
Achil. Nay, I must hold you. 
TJier. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, 
for whom he comes to fight. 
Achil. Peace, fool ! 

Ther. I would have peace and quietness, 
but the fool will not : he there : that he : look 
you there. 
Ajax. thou damned cur ! I shall — 

Will you set your wit to a fool's ? 
No, I warrant you ; for a fool's will 



Achil. 
Ther. 
shame it. 
Fair. 
Achil. 
Ajax. 



Good words, Thersites. 
What's the quarrel ? 
I bade the vile owl go learn me the 



tenor of the proclamation, and he rails upon 
me. 100 

Ther. 

Ajar.. 

Ther. 

Achil. 



I serve thee not. 
Well, go to, go to. 
I serve here voluntarily. 
Your last service was sufferance, 
'twas not voluntary : no man is beaten volun- 
tary : Ajax was here the voluntary, and you 
as under an impress. 

Ther. E'en so ; a great deal of your wit, 
too, lies in your sinews, or else there be liars. 
Hector shall have a great catch, if he. knock 
out either of your brains : a' were as good 
cnick a fusty nut with no kernel. 

Achil. What, with me too, Thersites ? 

Ther. There's Ulysses and old Nestor, 
whose wit was mouldy ere your grandsires 
had nails on their toes, yoke you like 
draughtoxeu and make you plough up the 
wars. 

Achil. What, what ? 

Ther. Yes, good sooth : to, Achilles ! to, 
Ajax ! to ! 120 

Ajax. I shall cut out your tongue. 

Ther. 'Tis no matter; I shall speak as much 
as thou afterwards. 

Patr. No more words, Thersites ; peace ! 

Ther. I will hold my peace when Achilles' 
brach bids me, shall I ? 

Achil. There's for you, Patroclus. 

Tlier. I will see you hanged, like clotpoles, 
ere I come any more to your tents: 1 will keep 
■where there is wit stirring and leave the faction 
of fools. \_Exit. 

PtUr. A good riddance. 



Achil. Marry, this, sir, is proclaimed through 
all our host : 
That Hector, by the fifth hour of the sun, 
Will with a trumpet 'twixt our tents and Troy 
To-morrow morning call some knight to arms 
That hath a stomach ; and such a one that 

dare 
Maintain — I know not what : 'tis trash. Fare- 
well. 
Ajax. Farewell. Who shall answer him ? 
Achil. I know not : 'tis put to lottery ; other- 
wise 140 
He knew his man. 
Ajax. 0, meaning you. I will go learn 
more of it. [Exe^int. 

Scene H. Troij, A room in Priam's palace. 

Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris, and 

Helejjus. 

Pri. After so many hours, lives, sneeches 

spent, 
Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks: 
' Deliver Helen, and all damage else — 
As honor, loss of time, travail, expense. 
Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is 

consumed 
In hot digestion of this cormorant war — • 
Shall be struck off.' Hector, what say you 

to't? 
Hect. Though no man lesser fears the 

Greeks than I 
As far as toucheth my particular, 
Yet, dread Priam, 10 

There is no lady of more softer bowels, 
More spongy to suck in the sense of fear. 
More ready to cry out ' Who knows wnat fol- 
lows ? ' 
Than Hector is: the wound of peace is surety, 
Surety secure ; but modest doubt is cali'd 
The beacon of the wise, the <.ent that searches 
To tlie bottom of the wor.st. Let Helen go : 
Since the first sword was drawn about this 

question. 
Every tithe soul, 'mougst many thousand 

disraes, 
Hath been as dear as Helen ; I mean, of ours: 
K we have lost so many tenths of ours, 21 
To guard a thing not ours nor worth to us. 
Had it our name, the value of on- ten. 
What merit's in that reason winch denies 
The yielding of her np ? 

Tro. Fie, fie, my brother ! 

Weigh you the worth and honor of a king 
So great as oar dread father in a scale 
Of common ounces ? will you with counters 

sum 
The jiast proportion of his infinite ? 
And buckle in a waist mo.-t 'atl:oniIess 30 

With spans and inches so diminuti\ e 
As fears and reasons ' fie, /or godly shame! 
Jlel. No marvel, though you bite so sharp 

at reasons. 
You are so empty of them. Should not eur 

father 
Bear the great sway of Lis affairs with reasons. 



756 



TROtLUS AND CRESSIDA. 



[Act tr. 



Because vour speech hath none that tells him 

so? 
Tro. You are for dreams and slumbers, 

brother priest ; 
You fur your gloves with reason. Here are 

your leasons : 
You know an enemy intends you harm , 
You Ivuow a sword employ'd is perilous, 40 
And reason flies the object of all harm : 
Who marvels then, when Helenas beholds 
A Grecian and Ins sword, if lie. do set 
The very wings of reason to his heels 
And fl}^ like chidden Mei'cury froui Jove, 
Or lilie a star disorb'd ? Naj', if we talk of 

reason, 
Let's shut our gates and sleep : manhood and 

honor 
Should have hare-hearts, would they but fat 

their thoughts 
With thiscramm'd reason : reason and respect 
Make livers pale and lustiliood deject. 50 

Ilect. Brother, she is not worth what she 

doth cost 
The liolding. 

Tro. Wliat is aught, but as 'tis valued ? 
Hect. But value dwells not in particular 

will ; 
It holds his estimate and dignitj' 
As well wherein 'tis precious of itself 
As in the prizer . 'tis mad idolatry 
To make the service greater than the god , 
And the will dotes tliat is attributive 
To what infectiously itself affects. 
Without some image of the affected merit. 60 
Tro. I take to-day a wife, and my election 
Is led on in tlie conduct of my will ; 
My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears. 
Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores 
Of will and judgment ; how may I avoid, 
Although my will distaste whnt'it elected. 
The wile I chose ? there ciin be no evasion 
To blench from this and to stand firm by- 
honor : 
We turn not back the silks upon the merchant, 
Wheu we have soil'd them, nor the remainder 

viands 70 

We do not throw in unrespective sieve, 
Because we now are full. It was thought 

meet 
Paris should do some vengeance ou the 

Greeks : 
Your breath of full consent bellied his sails ; 
The seas and winds, old wranglers, took a 

truce [sired. 

And did liim service : he touch'd the ports de- 
And for an old aunt whom the Greeks held 

captive. 
He brought a Grecian queen, whose youtl" and 

freshness [ing. 

Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes stale the morn- 
Why keep we her ? the Greci.ins keep our 

aunt : 80 

Is she wtH'th keeping ? why, she is a peail, 
Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand 

shijis, 
And turn'd crown'd kings to merchants. 



If you'll avouch 'twas wisdom Paris went — 
As'you must needs, for you all cried 'Go, go,' — 
If you'll confess he brought home noble prize — 
As you must needs, for you all clapp'd your 

hands 
And cried * Inestimable ! ' — why do you now 
The issue of your proper wisdoms rate, 
And do a deed that fortune never did, 90 

Beggar the estimation which you prized 
Richer than sea and land ? 0, theft most base. 
That we have stol'n what M-e do fear to keep I 
But, thieves, unworthy of a thing so stol'n, 
That in their country did them that disgrace, 
We fear to warrant in our nati\ e place ! 

Cas. IWithin] Cry, Trojans, cry ! 

Pri. What noise ? what shriek is this? 

Tro. 'Tis our mad sister, I do know her 
voice. 

Cas. [ Within] Cry, Trojans ! 

Hect. It is Cassandra. 100 

Enter Cassandra, raving. 

Cas. Cry, Trojans, cry ! lejid me ten thou- 
sand eyes. 
And I will fill them with pro[)hetic teai;s. 
Ilect. Peace, sister, peace ! 
Cas. Virgins and boys, mid-age and wrin- 
kled eld. 
Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry. 
Add to my clamoi-s I let us pay betimes 
A moiety of that mass of moan to come. 
Cry, Trojans, cry ! practice your eyes with 

tears ! 
Troy must not be, nor goodly Ilion stand ; 
Our firebrand brother. Paris, burns us all. 110 
Cry, Trojans, cry ! a Helen and a woe: 
Crv, cry ! Troy burns, or else let Helen go. 

[Exit. 
Hect. Now, youthful TroHus, do not these 
liigh strains 
Of divination in our sister work 
Some touches of remorse ? or is your blood 
So madly hot that no discourse of reason, 
Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause. 
Can qualify the same ? 

Tro. Why, brother Hector, 

We may not think the justness of each act 
Such and no other than event doth form it. 
Nor once deject the courage of our minds, 121 
Because Cassandra's mad : her brain-sick rap- 
tures 
Cannot distaste the goodness of a quarrel 
Which hath our several honors all engaged 
To make it gracious. For my i^rivate part, 
I am no more touch'd than all Priam's sons : 
And Jove forbid there should be done amongst 

us 
Such things as miglit offend the weakest spleen 
To fight for and maintain ! 129 

Par. Else might the world convince of levity 
As well my undertakings as your counsels : 
But I attest the gods, your full consent 
Gave wings to my propension and cut off 
All fears attending on so dire a project. 
For what, alas, can these my single arms V 
What propugnatiou is in one man's valor^ 



Sce:-e hi.] 



THIOL US AND CRESSIDA. 



767 



To stand the pnsli and enmity ot tliose 
This quanel would excite ? Yet. I protest, 
Were I alone to pass the (lifticulties 
And had as ample power ,is I lia\ e will, 140 
Paris should ne'er retract w hat lie hath done, 
"Xor faint in the jnirsuit. 

Pri. Paris, you speak 

Like one hosottcd on your sweet delights : 
You liave the luiney still, but tliese the jjall ; 
So to be valiant is no praise at a!!. 

Par. Sir, I propose not merely to myself 
Tlie pleasures such a beauty biings with it ; 
15ut I would have the soil of her fair rape 
\Viped offi in honorable keejiinji lier. 
What treason were it to the ransack'd queen, 
Disgrace to your gi'eat woiths and shame to 
me, 151 

T^ow to deliver her possession np 
On terms of base compulsion ! Can it be 
Tiiat so degenerate a strain as tliis 
Should once set footinj^ in ymir generous 

bosoms ? 
'I'iiere's Jiot the meanest spirit on our party 
^\'ithout a heart to dare or sword to <lraw 
When Helen is defended, nor none so noble 
Whose life were ill bestowM or death untamed 
Where Helen is the subject ; t!>en, 1 say, 1(10 
AVell may we fight for her whom, we know 

well, 
The world's large .spaces cannot paralle'. 
Ilect. Paris and Troilus, you have both said 
well, 
And on the cause and question now in hand 
Have glozed, but superficially : not mucli 
Unlike young men, whom Aristotle tliought 
Uufilto hear moral ])hiloso|)hy : 
The leasons you allege do more conduce 
To tlie hot passion of distemjier'd blood 
Than to make np a free determination 170 
'Twixt right and wrong, for pleasure and re- 
venge 
Have ears more deaf than adders to the voice 
Of any true decision. Nature craves 
All dues be render'd to their owners : now, 
What nearer debt in all humanity 
Than wife is to the husband ? !f this law 
Of nature be corrupted through affection. 
And tliat great minds, of partial indulgence 
To their benumbed wills, resist tlie same. 
There is a law in each well-order'd nation 180 
To curb those raging appetites that are 
Most di.sobedient and refractory. 
If Helen then be wife to Sparta's khig, 
As it is known .she is, these moral laws 
Of nature and of nations speak aloud 
To have her back return'd : thus to persist 
In doing wrong extenuates not wrong. 
But makes it much more heavy. Hector's 

opinion 
Is this in way of truth ; yet ne'ertheless, 
Myspritely brethren. Ipi-opend to you 190 
In resolution to keep Helen still, 
Vor 'tis a cause that hath no mean dependance 
X'pon our ioint and several dignities. 
Tro. Why, there you touch'd the life of 
our design ; 



Were it not glory that we more affected 
Than tlie performance of our heaving spleens, 
I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood 
Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hec- 
tor, 
She is a theme of honor and renown, 
A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds, 
Whose present courage "mry beat down our 
foes, 201 

And fame in time to come canonize us ; 
For, I presume, brave Hector would not lose 
So rich advantage of a promised glory 
As smiles npon the forehead of this action 
For the wide world's revenue. 

Ikct. ' I 'am jours, 

You valiant offspring of great Priamns. 
I have a ruisting challenge sent amongst 
The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks 
Will strike amazement to tJieir drowsj' spirits: 
I was advertised their great general slept, 211 
Whilst emulation in the army crept : 
This, I presume, will wake him. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. The Grecian camp. Before 
Achilles' tent. 

Enter Thersites, solus. 

Ther. How now, Thersites ! what, lost in 
the labyrinth of thy fury ! Shall the elephant 
Ajax carry it thus ? he beats me, and I rail at 
him : 0, worthy satisfaction ! would it were 
otherwise ; that I could beat him, whilst lie 
railed at me. 'Sfoot, I'll learn to conjure and 
raise devils, but I'll see some issue of my spite- 
ful execrations. Then there's Achilles^ a rare 
enginer ! If Troy be not taken till tliese two 
undermine it, the walls will stand till they fall 
of themselves. O thou great thunder-darter 
of Olympus, forget that thou art Jove, the king 
of gods, and. Mercury, lose all the serpentine 
craft of thy caduceus, if ye take not that little 
little less than little wit from them that they 
have ! which shoit-armed ignorance itself 
knows is so abundant scarce, it will not'n cir- 
cumvention deliver a fly from a. spider, with- 
out drawing their massy irons and cutting the 
web. After this, the vengeance on the vvhole 
camp ! or rather, tiie bone-ache ! for that, nie- 
thinks, is the curse dependant on those that 
war for a placket. I have said my prayers and 
devil Envy say Amen. What ho ! my Lord 
Achilles ! 

Enter P.A.TROCLU.S. 

Pair. Who's there ? Thersites ! Good Ther- 
sites, come in and rail. 

Thcr. If I could have remembered a gilt 
counterfeit, thou wouldst not have slipped out 
of my contemiilation : but it is no matter ; thy- 
self ui)on thyself ! The connnon cairse of 
mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in great 
revemie ! heaven bless thee from a tutor, and 
discipline come not near thee ! Let thy blood 
be thy direction till thy death ! then if .she 
that lays thee out siiys thou art a fair corse, 

I'll be s>yom and sworu upou't she uevejr 



758 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



[Act h 



shrouded any but lazars. Amen. "Where's 
Achilles ? 

Patr. What, art thou devout ? wast thou 
in prayer ? 

Thev. Ay : the heavens hear me ! 40 

Enter Achilles. 

Achil. "Who's there ? 

Patr. Thersites, my lord. 

Achil. Where, where ? Art thou come ? 
why, my cheese, my digestion, why Iiast thou 
not served thyself in to ray table so many 
meals ? Come, what's Agamemnon ? 

Ther. Thy commander, Achilles. Then tell 
me, Patroclus, what's Achilles? 

Patr. Thy lord, Thersites : then tell me, I 
pray thee, what's thyself ? 50 

Ther. Thy knower, Patroclus : then tell 
me, Patroclus, what art thou ? 

Patr. Thou may.st tell that knowest. 

Achil. O, tell, tell. 

Ther. I'll decline the whole question. Aga- 
memnon commands Achilles ; Achilles is my 
lord ; I am Patroclus' knower, and Patroclus 
is a fool. 

Patr. You rascal ! 

Ther. Peace, fool ! I have not done. 60 

Achil. He is a privileged man. Proceed, 
Thersites. 

Ther. Agamemnon is a fool ; Achilles is a 
fool ; Thersites is a fool, and, as aforesaid, 
Puti'ocl us is a fool. 

Achil. Derive this ; come. 

Ther. Agamemnon is a fool to offer to com- 
mand Achilles ; Acliilles is a fool to be com- 
manded of Agamemnon ; Thersites is a fool to 
serve such a fool, and Patroclus is a fool 
positive. 70 

Patr. Why am I a fool ? 

Ther. Make that demand of the prover. It 
suffices me thou art. Look you, who comes 
here ? 

Achil. Patroclus, I'll speak with nobody. 
Come in with me, Tiiersites. [Exit. 

Ther. Here is such patchery, such juggling 
and such knavery ! all the argument is a cuck- 
old and a whore ; a good quarrel to draw 
emulous factions and bleed to death upon. 
Now, the dry serpigo on the subject ! and war 
and lechery confound all ! [Exit. 

Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, 
DiOMEDES, and Ajax. 

Agam. Where is Achilles ? 

Patr. Within his tent ; but ill disposed, my 

lord. 
Agam. Let it be known to him that we are 
here. 
He shent owx messengers ; and we lay by 
Our appertainnients, visiting of him : 
Let him be told so ; lest perchance he think 
We dare not move the question of our place. 
Or know not what we are. 90 

Patr. I shall say so to him. [Exit. 

Ulyss. We saw him at the opening of his 
tent : 
Be is not sick. 



Ajar,. Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart : 
you may call it melancholy, if you will favor 
the man ; but, by my head, 'tis pride : but 
why, why ? let him show us the cause. A 
word, my lord. [Takes Agamemnon aside. 

Nest. What moves Ajax thus to bay at 
him ? 

Ulyss. Achilles hath inveigled his fool from 
him. 100 

Nest. Who, Thersites ? 

Ulyss. He. 

Nest. Then will Ajax lack matter, If he 
have lost his argument. 

Ulyss. No, you see, he is his argiiment that 
has his argument, Achilles. 

Ne.st. AH the better ; their fraction is more 
our wish than their faction : but it was a 
strong composure a fool could disunite. 109 

Ulyss. The amity that wisdom knits not, 
folly may easily untie. Here comes Patroclus. 

Re-enter Patroclus 

Nest. No Achilles with him. 
Ulyss. The elephant hath joints, but none 
for courtesy : his legs are legs .for necessitj', 
not for flexure. 
Patr. Achilles bids me say, he is much 

sorry, [ure 

If any thing more than your sport and pleas- 
Did move your greatness and this noble state 
To call upon him ; he hopes it is no other 
But for your health and your digestion sake. 
And after-dinner's breath. 121 

Agam. Hear you, Patroclus : 

We are too well acquainted with these 

answers : 
But his evasion, wing'd thus swift with scorn, 
Cannot outfly our apprehensions. 
Much attribute lie hath, and much the reason 
Why we ascribe it to him ; yet all his virtues, 
Not virtuously on his own part beheld, 
Do in our eyes begin to lose their gloss. 
Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish. 
Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him, 130 
We come to speak with him ; and you shall 

not sin. 
If you do say we think him over-proud 
And under-honest, in self-assumption greater 
Than in the note of judgment ; and worthier 

than himself 
Here tend the savage strangeness he puts on, 
Disguise the holy strength of their command, 
And underwrite in an observing kind 
His humorous predominance ; yea, watch 
His pettish lunes, his ebbs, his flows, as if 139 
The passage and whole carriage of this action 
Rode on his tide. Go tell him this, and add. 
That if he overbold his price so much, 
We'll none of him ; but let him, like an 

engine 
Not portable, lie under this report : 
' Bring action hither, this cannot go to war : 
A stirring dwarf we do allowance give 
Before a sleeping giant.' Tell him so. 
Patr. I shall ; and bring his answer 

presently. [JSxit, 



Scene hi.] 



TROILUS AND CRESS/ DA. 



759 



A'jani. Ill second voice we'll not be satis- 
fied ; 
We come to speak with him. Ulysses, enter 
you. [Jixit bli/sses. 150 

Ajax. Wliat is he more tlian another ? 

Again. No more than what he thinks he is. 

Ajux. Is he so miicli ? Do you nottliink 
he thinks himself a better man than I am ? 

Again. No question. 

Ajux. Will you subscribe liis tliought, and 
eay he is ? 

Again. No, noble Ajax ; you are as stronjj, 
as valiant, as wise, no less noble, much more 
gentle, and altogether more tractable. 1(J0 

Ajax. Wliy should a man be proud ? How 
doth pride grow ? 1 know not what pride is. 

Again. Your mind is the clearer, Ajax, and 
your virtues the fairer. He that is proud eats 
up liimself : pride is his own gla.ss, his own 
trumpet, his own chronicle ; and whatever 
praises itself but in the deed, devours the deed 
in the praise. 

Ajax. I do liate a proud man, as I hate the 
iiigenderins of toads. 170 

Ncit. Yet lie loves himself : is 't not 
strange ? [Aside, 

He-enter Ulysses. 

Ulyss. Acliilles will not to the field to- 
morrow. 
Again. What's his excuse ? 
Uhfss. He dotli rely on none, 

But carries on the stream of his dispose 
Without observance or respect of any. 
In will peculiar and in self-admission. 
Again. Why will he not upon our fair re- 
quest 
L'ntent his person and share the air witli us ? 
Ubjtf.-i. Things small as nothing, for re- 
que.-ifs sake only. 
He makes important: possess'd he is with 
greatness, 180 

Ahd speaks not to himself but with a pride 
That (puirrels at self-breath : imagined worth 
Holds in his blood sucli swoln and hot dis- 
course 
That 'twixt Ids mental and his active parts 
Kiugdom'd Achilles in commotion rages 
XnA batters down himself : what should I 

^-ay ? 
He is so i>laguy proud that tlie death-tokens 

of it 
Cry ' No recovery.' 

.i(/am. Let Ajax go to him. 

Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent : 
'Tis said lie holds you well, and will be led 190 
At your request a little from himself. 

Ulyss. O Agamemnon, let it not be so ! 
We'll consecrate the stejjs that Ajax makes 
Wlieii thevgo from Achilles : shall tlie proud 

k)rd 
That bastes his arrogance with his own seam 
And never suffers matter of the world 
Enter his tlioughts, save such as do revolve 
And ruminate himself, shall he be wornhipp'd 

Of thivt we Hold m idol wove \hm li? ? 199 



No, this thrice worthy and right valiant lord 

Must not so stale his palm, nobly acquired ; 

Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit, 

As amply titled as Achilles is, 

By going to Achilles : 

That were to eidard his fat already pride' 

And add more coals to Cancer when he burns 

With entertiiining great Hy|)erion. 

This lord go to him ! Jupiter forbid. 

And say in thunder ' Achilles go to him.' 

Ifest. [Aside to I)io.] O, this is well ; he 
rubs the vein of him. 210 

Dio. [Aside to Ncst.J And how his silence 
drinks up this applause ! 

Ajax. If I go to liim, with my armed fist 
I'll pash him o'er the face. 

Again. O, no, you shall not go. 

Ajax. An a' be proud with me, I'll pheeze 
his pride : 
Let me go to him. 

Ulyss. Not for the worth that hangs upon 
our quarrel. 

Ajax. A paltry, insolent fellov ! 

Ne.^t. How he describes liimself ! 

Ajax. Can he not be sociable ? 220 

Ulyss. The raven chides blackness. 

Ajax. I'll let his luimor^ blood. 

Again. He will be the physician that should 
be the patient. 

Ajax. An all men were o' my mind, — 

Ulyss. Wit would be out of fashion. 

Ajcx. A' should not bear it .so, a' should 
eat swords first : shall pride carry it ? 

Hest. An 'twould, you'ld carry half. 

Ulyss. A' would have ten shares. 230 

Ajax. I will knead him ; I'll make him 
supple. 

A'esi. He's not yet through warm : force 
him with praises : pour in, pour in ; his am- 
i)ition is dry. 

Ulyss. [To Again.] My lord, you feed too 
raucli on this dislike. 

Nest. Our noble general, do not do so. 

Dio. You must prepare to fight without 
Achilles. 

Ulyss. Why, 'tis this naming of him does 
him harm. 
Here is a man — but 'tis before his face ; 240 
I will be silent. 

Nest. Wherefore should you so ? 

He is not emulous, as Achilles is. 

Ulyss. Know the whole world, he is as 
valiant. 

Ajax. A whoreson dog, that shall palter 
thus with us ! 
Would he were a Trojan ! 

Nest. Wliat a vice were it in Ajax now, — 

Ulyss. If he were proud, — 

Dio. Or covetous of praise, — 

Ulyss. Ay, or surly borne, — 

Dio. Or strange, or self-affected ! 250 

Ulyss. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art 
of sweet composure ; 
Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee 
suck : 

f^med be t]]^ twtor, ^■n<J tl^ jmrts of nature 



760 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



[Act III. 



Tlirice famed, beyond all erudition : 
But he that discijjUned thy arms to fight, 
Let Mars divide eternity in twain. 
And gis-e liinr half : and, for thy vigor, 
BiiU-bearing Milo his addition yield 
To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom. 
Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines 
Thy spacious and dilated parts : here's Nes- 
tor ; 2{)1 
Instructed by the antiquary times, 
He must, he is, he cannot but be wise : 
But pardon, fatlier Nestor, were your days 
As green as Ajax' and your brain so temper'd. 
You should not have the eminence of him. 
But be as Ajax. 
Ajax . Shall I call you father ? 
jVest. Ay, my good son. 
I^io. Be ruled by him, Lord Ajax. 
Ulyss. There is no tarrying here ; the hart 
Achilles 
Keeps thicket. Please it our great general 
To call togetlier all his state of war ; 271 
Fresh kiugs are come to Troy : to-morrow 
We must with all our main of power stand 

fast : 
And here's a lord,— come kniglits froui east to 

west, 
And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the 
best. 
Arjam. Go we to council. Let Achilles 
sleep : 
Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks 
draw deep. {Exeunt. 



ACT IIL 



Scene L Troij. Priam's 2Ml(ice. 
Enter a Servant and Pandarus. 

Pan. Friend, you! pray yon, a word: do 
not you follow the young Lord Paris ? 

Sere. Ay, sir, when he goes before me. 

Pan. You dei)eud upon him, I mean? 

Seru. Sir, I do depend upon tlie hjrd. 

Pan- You depend upon a noble gentleman ; 
I must needs praise liim. 

Sent. The lord be praised ! 

Pan. You know me, do you not ? 

Sew. Faith, sir, superficially. 10 

Pan. Friend, knows me better ; I am tlie 
Lord Pandarus. 

Serv. I hope I shall know your honor 
better. 

Pan. I do desire it. 

Serv. You are m the state of grace. 

Pan. Grace ! not so, friend ; lionor and 
lordship are my titles. IMusie within.] What 
music is this ? 

Sent. I do but partly know, sir : itis mu.sic 
ill iiarts. 20 

Pan. Know you the musicians ? 

(S'era. Wholly, sir. 

Pan. Who play they to ? 

(Se/f. Tu the he<ifers, sir. 



Pan. At whose pleasure, friend ? 

Serv. At mine, sir, and theirs that love music. 

Pan. Connnand, I mean, friend. 

Serv. Who shall I command, sir ? 

Pan. Friend, we understand not one an- 
other : I am too courtly and thou art too cun 
ning. At whose request do these men play ? 

Serv. Tliat's to 't indeed, sir : marry, sir, 
at tlie request of Paris my lord, who's there in 
])erson ; witli liim, the mortal Venus, the 
heart-blood of beauty, love's invisible soul, — 

Pan. Who, my cousin Cressida ? 

Serv. No, sir, Helen : could you not find 
out that by her attributes ? 

Pan. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast 
not seen the Lady Cressida. I come to speak 
with Paris froui the Prince Troilus : 1 will 
make a com]iliinental assault uy>on him, for my 
business seethes. 

Serv. Sodden business ! there's a stewed 
phrase indeed ! 

Enter Paris and Helen, attended. 

Pan. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this 
fair company ! fair desires, in all fair measure, 
fairly guide them ! especially to you, fair 
queen ! fair thoughts be your fair pillow ! 49 

Helen. Dear lord, you are full of fair words. 

Pan. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet 
queen. Fair prince, here is good broken 
music. 

Par. You have broke it, cousin : and, by 
my life, you shall make it whole again ; you 
shall piece it out with a piece of your per- 
formance. Nell, he is full of harmony. 

Pan. Truly, lady, no. 

Helen. O, sir, — 

Pan. Rude, in sooth ; in good sooth, very 
rude. 60 

Par. Well said, my lord ! well, you say so 
in fits. 

Pan. I have business to my lord, dear queen. 
My lord, will you vouchsafe me a word ? 

Helen. Nay, this shall not hedge us out : we'll 
hear you sing, certainly. 

Pan. Well, sweet queen, you are pleasant 
with me. But, marry, thus, my lord : my 
dear lord and most esteemed friend, your bro- 
ther Troilus,— 70 

Helen. My Lord Pandarus ; honey-sweet 
lord,— 

Pan. Go to, sweet queen, go to : — commends 
himself most affectionately to you, — 

Helen.. You shall not bob us out of our mel- 
ody : if you do, our melancholy upon your 
head ! 

Pan. Sweet queen, sweet queen ! that's a 
sweet queen, i' faith. 

Helen. And to make a sweet lady sad is a 
sour offence. 80 

Pan. Nay, that shall not serve your turn ; 
that shall not, in truth, la. Nay, I care not 
for such words ; no, no. And, my lord, he 
desires you, tliat if the king call for him at 
supper, you will make his excuse. 

Helm, My Lord Pandarus,— 



Scene ii.] 



TROILUS AND CUES SID A. 



761 



Pun. "Wliiit says my sweet queeu, my very 
very sweet (jiieeii ? 

Par. Wl'.iit exploit's in hand ? where sups 

he tu-ui-lit ? '.to 

Helen. Nay, but, mj' lord, — 

Pun. What says my sweet queen ? My 

cousin will fall out with you. You must not 

know where lie sujis. 

Par. I'll lay my life, with my disposer Cres- 
sida. 

Pan. No, no, no such matter ; you are wide: 
couie, your disposer is sick. 
Par. Well, I'll make excuse. 
Pan. Ay, .uood my lord Why should you 
say Crossida ? no, your poor disposer's sick. 
Par. I spy. 

/'(/;*. You siiy ! what do you spy? Come, 
pive me an iustrunient. Now, sweet queen. 
Ill leu. Why, this is kindly done. 
Piin. My niece is horribly in love with a 
thin;^ you have, sweet queen. 

Helen. She shall have it, my lord, if it be 
not my lord Paris. 

Pan. He! no, she'll none of him ; they two 
are twain. Ill 

Helen. Falling in, after falling out, may 
make them three. 

Pan. Come, come, I'll hear no more of this; 
I'll sing you a song now. 

Helen. Ay, ay, prithee now. i?y my trotli, 
sweet lord, thou hast a fine forehead. 
Pan. Ay, you may, you may. 
Helen. Let tliy song be love : this love will 
undo us all. Cupid, Cupid, Cupid ! 120 

Pan. Love ! ay, that it shall, i' faith. 
Par. Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but 

love. 
Pan. In good troth, it begins so. [Sin(/s. 
Love, love, nothing but love, still more ! 
For, O, love's bow 
Shoots buck and doe : 
The shaft confounds. 
Not that it wounds, 
But tickles still the sore. l"-0 

These lovers cry Oh ! oh ! they die ! 

Yet that which seems the wound to kill, 
Doth turn oh ! oli ! to ha 1 ha ! he ! 

So dving love lives still : 
Oh ! oh ! a while, but ha 1 ha ! ha ! 
Oh ! oh ! groans out for ha ! ha 1 ha ! 
Heigh-ho ! 

Helen. In love, i' faith, to the very tip of 
the nose. 13it 

Par. He eats nothing but doves, love, and 
that breeds hot blood, and hot blood begets 
hot thoughts, and liot thoughts beget hot deeds, 
and hot deeds is love. 

Pan. Is this the generation of love ? hot 
blood, hot tliDUghts, and hot deeds ? Why, 
they are vipers : is love a generation of vipers? 
Sweet lord, wlio's a-field to-day ? 

Par. Hector, Deiphobus. Helenus, Autenor, 
and all the gallantry of Troy : I would fain 
have armed to-day, but my Nell would not 
have it so. How cliauce niy brother Troilus 
went not ? 151 



Helen. He hangs the lip at something : you 
know all, Lord Pandarus. 

Pan. Not I, lioney-sweet queeu. I long to 
hear how they sped to-day. You'll remember 
your brother's excuse ? 
Par. To a hair. 
Pan. Farewell, sweet queen. 
Helen. Commend me to your niece 
Pan. I will, sweet queen. [Exit. 160 

[^•1 retreat soundid. 
Par. They're come from field : let us to 
Priam's hall, 
To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I nuist 

woo you 
To help unarm our Hector : liis stubborn 

buckles. 
With these your white ench.-mting fingers 

touch'd, 
Shall more obey than to the edge of .steel 
Or force of Greekish sinews ; you shall do 

more 
Than all the island kings, — disarm great 
Hector. 
Helen. 'Twill make us proud to be his 
servant, Paris ; 
Yea, what he shall receive of ns in duty 
Gives us more palm in beauty than v e have. 
Yea, overshines ourself. 171 

Par. Sweet, above thought I love thee. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. The same. Pandai'us' orchard. 
Enter Pandarus and Tkoilus' Boy, meeting. 

Pan. How now! where's thy master ? at 
my cousin Cressida's? 

Boy. No, sir ; he stays for you to conduct 
him thither. 

Pan. 0, here he comes. 

Enter Troilus. 

How now, how now ! 

Tro. Sirrali, walk off. [Exit Boy. 

Pan. Have you seen my cousin ? 

Tro. No, Pandarus : I stalk about her door, 
Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks 10 
Staying for waftage. 0, be thou luy Charon, 
And give me swift transportance to those fields 
AVhere I may wallow in the lily-beds 
Proposed forthedeserver ! gentle Pandarus, 
From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted wings 
And fly with me to Cressid ! 

Pan. Walk here i' the orchard, I'll bring 
her straight. [Exit. 

Tro. I aui giddy ; expectation whirls me 
round. 
The imaginary relish is so sweet 20 

That it enchants my sense : what will it be, 
Wlien that the watery palate tastes indeed 
Love's thrice repured nectar ? death, I fear me, 
Swooning destruction, or some joy too fine. 
Too subtle-potent, tuned too sharj) in sweet- 
ness, 
For the ca]iacity of my ruder ))owers : 
I fear it much ; and I do fear besides, 
That I shall lose distinction in my joys ; 



762 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



[Act III. 



As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps 
The enemy flying. 30 

Re-eiiter Pandakus. 

Pan. She's making her ready, she'll come 
Btmight : you must be witty now. She does 
so blush, and fetches her wind so short, as if 
she were frayed with a sprite : I'll fetch her. 
It is the prettiest villain : she fetches her 
breath as short as a new-ta'en sparrow. [^Exit. 

Tro. Even such a passion doth embrace 
my bosom : 
My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse ; 
And all my powers do their bestowing lose, 
Like vassalage at unawares encountering 40 
The eye of majesty. 

Re-enter Pandarus loith Cressida. 

Pan. Come, come, what need you blusli ? 
shame's a babj% Here she is now : swear the 
oaths now to her that you have sworn to me. 
What, are you gone again ? you must be 
watched ere' you be made tame, must you ? 
Come your ways, come your ways ; an you 
draw backward, we'll put you i' the fills. Why 
do you not speak to her ? Come, draw this 
curtain, and let's see your picture. Alas the 
day, how loath you are to offend daylight ! an 
'twere dark, you'ld close sooner. So, so ; rub 
on, and kiss the mistress. How now ! a kiss in 
fee-farm ! build there, carpenter ; the air is 
sweet. Nay, you shall fight your hearts out 
ere I part you. The falcon as the tercel, for 
all the ducks i' the river : go to, go to. 

Tro. You have bereft me of all words, lady. 

Pan. Words pay no debts, give her deeds : 
but she'll bereave youo' the deeds too, if she 
call your activity in question. What, billing 
again ? Here's ' In witness whereof the par- 
ties interchangeablj'^ ' — Come in, come in : I'll 
go get a fire. [£'.tj<. 

Cres. Will you walk in, my lord ? 

Tro. O Cressida, how often have I wished 
me thus ! 

Cres. Wished, my lord ! The gods grant,— 
O my lord 1 

Tro. What should they grant? what makes 
this pretty abruption ? What too curious dreg 
espies my sweet lady in the fountain of our 
love? 

Cres. More dregs than water, if my fears 
have eyes. 

Tro. Fears make devils of cherubins ; they 
never see truly. 

Cres. Blind fear, that seeing rea.son leads, 
finds safer footing than blind reason stumbling 
without fear : to fear the worst oft cures the 
worse. 79 

Tro. 0, let my lady apprehend no fear : 
in all Cupid's pageant there is presented no 
monster. 

Cres. Nor nothing monstrous neither ? 

Tro. Nothing, but our undertakings ; when 
we vow to weep seas, live in fire, eat rocks, 
tame tigers ; thinking it harder for our mis- 
tress to devise imposition enough than for us 
to vigdergo any difflcujty imposed- Tbis is the 



monstruo.sity in love, lady, that the will is 
infinite and the execution confined, that the 
desire is boundless and the act a slave to limit. 

Cres. They say all lovers swear more per- 
formance than they are able and yet reserv* 
an iibilitj- that they never perform, vowing 
more than tlie perfection of ten and discharg- 
inij less than t!ie tenth part of one. They that 
have the voice of lions and the actof hares, are 
tliey not monsters ? 

fro. Are there such ? sirch are not we . 
l)raise us as we are tasted, allow us as w? 
prove ; our head shall go bare till merit crowk 
it : no perfection in reversion shall have a 
praise in present : we will not name desert 
before his birth, and, being born, his addition 
shall be humble. Few words to fair faith : 
Troilus shall be such to Cressid as what envy 
can say worst shall be a mock for his truth, 
and what truth can speak truest not truer than 
Troilus. 

Cres. Will you walk in, my lord ? 

Re-enter Pandarus. 

Pan. What, blushing still ? have you not 
done talking yet ? 109 

Cres. Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I 
dedicate to you. 

Pan. I thank you for that : if my lord get 
a boy of you, you'll give him me. Be true to 
my lord : if he flinch, chide me for it. 

Tro. You know now your hostages ; your 
uncle's word and my firm faith. 

Pan. Nay, I'll give my word for her too: 
our kindred, though they be long ere they are 
wooed, they are constant being won : they are 
burs, I can tell you ; they'll stick where they 
are thrown. 

Cres. Boldness comes to me now, and brings 

me heart. 121 

Prince Troilus, I have loved you night and day 
For many weary months. 

Tro. Why was my Cressid then so hard to 

win ? 
Cres. Hard to seem won : but I was won, 

my lord. 
With the first glance that ever — pardon me — 
If I confess much, you will play the tyrant. 
I love you now ; but not, till now, so much 
But I might master it : in faitli, I lie ; 129 

My thoughts were like unbridled children, 

grown 
Too headstrong for their mother. See, we 

fools ! 
Why have I blabb'd ? who shall be true to us, 
When we ai-e so unsecret to ourselves ? 
But, though I loved you well, I woo'd you not; 
And yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man, 
Or that we women had men's privilege 
Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my 

tongue. 
For in this rapture I shall surely speak 
The thing I shall repent. See, see, your 

silence. 
Cunning in dumbness, from my weabneg^ 

draws 



Scene hi.] 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



763 



My very soul of counsel I stop my mouth. 141 

Tro, And shall, albeit sweet music issues 
thence. 

Pan. Pretty, i' faith. 

Ores. My lord, I do beseech you, pardon 
me ; 
*T\vas not my purpose, thus to beg a kiss : 
I am asliamed. O heavens ! what liave I done? 
For this time will I tiike my leave, my lord. 

Tro. Your leave, sweet Cressid ! 

Pan. Leave ! an you take leave till to- 
morrow moruing, — 150 

Cres. Pray you, content j'ou. 

Tro. What offends you, lady ? 

Crcs. Sir, mine own company. 

Tro. You cannot shun 

Yourself. 

Cres. Let me go and try : 
I have a kiud of self resides with you ; 
But an unkind self, that itself will leave, 
To be another's fool. I would be gone : 
Where is my wit ? I know not what I speak. 

Tro. Well know they what they speak that 
speak so wisely. 

Cres. Perchance, mj' lord, I show more 
craft than love ; 160 

And fell so roundly to a large confession. 
To angle for your thoughts : but you are wise. 
Or else you love not, for to be wise and love 
Exceed's man's miglit ; that dwells with gods 
above. 

Tro. O that I thought it could be in a 
woman — 
As, if it can, I will presume in you — 
To feed for aye her lamp and flames of love ; 
To keep her constancy in plight and youth, 
Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind ItJil 
That doth renew swifter than blood decays ! 
Or that persuasion could but thus convince me. 
That my integrity and truth to you 
Might be affronted with tlie match and weight 
Of such a winnow'd purity in love ; 
How were I then uplifted ! but, alas ! 
1 am as true as truth's simplicity 
And simpler than the infancy of truth. 

Cres. In tliat I'll war with you. 

Tro. O virtuous fight. 

When right with right wars who shall be most 

right ! 17!) 

True swains in love shall in the world to come 

Approve their truths by Troilus : when their 

rhymes. 
Full of protest, of oath and big compare, 
Want similes, truth tired with iteration. 
As true as steel, as i)lantiige to the moon, 
As sun to day, as turtle to her mate, 
As iron to adamant, as earth to the centre. 
Yet, after all comparisons of truth. 
As truth's authentic author to be cited, 
' As true as Troilus' shall crown up the verse. 
And sanctify the numbers. 

Cres. Prophet may you be ! 190 

If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth. 
When time is old and hath forgot itself, 
VThen waterdrop§ baye worn the stones pf 



And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up, 
And mighty states characterless are grated 
To dusty nothing, yet let memory. 
From false to false, among false maids in love, 
Upbraid my falsehood ! when they've said 

' as false 
As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth. 
As fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer's calf, 200 
Pard to the hind, or .stepdame to her son,' 
' Yea,' let them say, to stick the lieart of false- 
hood, 
' As false as Cressid.' 

Pan. Goto, a bai'gain made : seal it, seal it; 
I'll be the witness. Here 1 hold your hand, 
liere my cousin's. If ever yoii prove false one 
to another, since I have taken suc'h pains to 
bring you together, let all pitiful goers-be- 
tween be called to the world's end after my 
name ; call them all Pandavs ; let all constant 
)nen be Troilases, all false women Cressids, 
and all brokers-between Paudars ! say, amen. 

Tro. Amen. 

Crcs. Amen. 

Pan. Amen. Whereupon I will show you 
a chamber with a bed ; which bed, because it 
shall not speak of your prettj- encounters, 
press it to death : away ! 
And Cupid grant all tongue-tied maidens here 
Bed, chamber, Pandar to provide this gear ! 
[Exeunt. ^21 

Scene III. The Grecian camp. Before 
Achilles^ tent- 
Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Diomedes, 
Nestok, Ajax, Menelaus, and Calchas. 

Cal. Now, princes, for the service I have 

done you. 
The advantage of the time prompts me aloud 
To call for recompense. Appear it to your 

mind 
tThat, tlirough the sight I bear in things to 

love, 
I luive abandon'd Troy, left my possession, 
Incurr'd ii traitor's name ; exix)!-:ed myself, 
From certain and possess'd conveniences. 
To doubtful fortunes ; sequestering from me 

all 
That time, acquaintance, custom and condition 
Made tame and most familiar to my nature. 
And here, to do you service, am become 11 
As new into the world, strange, unacquainted: 
I do beseech you, as in way of taste. 
To give me now a little benefit. 
Out of those many register'd in promise. 
Which, you say, live to come in my behalf. 
Ayam. What wouldst thou of us, Trojan ? 

make demand. 
Cal. You have a Trojan prisoner, call'd 

Antenor. 
Yesterday took : Troy holds him very dear. 
Oft have you — often have you thanks there- 
fore— 20 
Desired my Cressid in right great exchange. 
Whom Troy hath Ptill denied ; tut thia Au< 

teuori 



764 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



[Act nit. 



I know, is such a wrest in their affairs 
That their negotiations all must slack, 
Wanting his manage ; and they will almost 
Give us a prince of blood, a son of Priam, 
In change of him : let him be sent, great prin- 
ces, 
And he shall buy my daughter ; and her pres- 
ence 
Shall quite strike off all service I have done. 
In most accepted pain. 

Af/am. Let Diomedes bear him, 30 

And bring us Cressid hither : Calchas shall 

have 
What he requests of us. Good Diomed, 
Furnish you fairly for this interchange : 
Withal bring word if Hector will to-morrow 
Be auswer'd in his challenge : Ajax is ready. 
Bio. This shall I undertake ; and 'tis a 
burden 
Which I am proud to bear. 

[Exeunt Diomedes and Calchas. 

Enter Achilles and P.\tkocllis, before their 
tent. 

Ulyss. Achilles stands i' the entrance of 
his tent : 
Please it our general to pass strangely by him. 
As if he were forgot ; aivd, princes all, 40 

Lay negligent and loose regard upon him : 
I will come last. 'Tis like he'll question me 
Why such uuplausive eyes are bent on him : 
If so, I have derision mediciuable. 
To use between your strangeness and his pride, 
Which his own will shall have desire to drink: 
It may be good : pride hath no other glass 
To show itself but pride, for supple knees 
Feed arrogance and are the proud man's fees. 
Afjam. We'll execute your purpose, and 
put on 50 

A form of strangeness as we pass along : 
So do each lord, and either greet him not. 
Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him 

more 
Than if not look'd on. I will lead the way. 
Achil. What, comes the general to speak 
with me ? 
You know my mind, I'll fight no more 'gainst 
Troy. 
Again. What says Achilles ? would he 

aught Avith u.s ? 
Nest. Would you, my lord, aught with the 

general ? 
Achil. No. 

Nest. Nothing, my lord. CO 

Af/am. The better. 

[E.v.eunt Af/amemnon and Nestor. 
Achil. Good day, good day. 
Men. How do you ? how do you ? [E.i-it. 
Achil. What, does the cuckold scorn me ? 
Ajax. IIow now, Patroclus ! 
Achil. Good morrow, Ajax. 
Ajax. Ha ? 
Achd. Good morrow. 
Ajar. Ay, and good next day too. [Exit. 
Achil. Wliat mean these fellows ? Know 
they Hot Achilles ? 70 



Patr. They pass by strangely : they were 
used to bend. 
To send their smiles before them to Achilles ; 
To come as humbly as they used to creep 
To holy altars. 

Achil. What, am I poor of late ? ■ 

'Tis certain, greatness, once fall'n out with 

fortune. 
Must fall out with men too : what the declined 

is 
He shall as soon read in the eyes of others 
As feel in his own fall ; for men, like butter- 
flies, 
Show not their mealy wings but to the sum- 
mer. 
And not a man, for being simply man, 80 

Hath any honor, but honor fur those honors 
That are without him, as place, riches, favor, 
Prizes of accidentasoft as merit : 
Which when they fall, as being slippery staud- 

ers, 
The love that lean'd on them as slippery too, 
Do one ])liTck down another and together 
Die in the fall. But 'tis not so with me : 
Fortune and I are friends : 1 do enjoy 
At ample i)oiut all that 1 did ])ossess. 
Save these men's looks ; who do, methinks, 
find out <K. 

Something not worth in me such ricli behold 

ing 
As they have often given. Here is Ulysses ; 
I'll interrupt his reading. 
How now Ulysses ! 

Ulyss. Now, great Thetis' son ! 

Achil. What are you reading ? 
Ulyss. A strange fellow hero 

Writes me : ' That man, how dearly ever 

parted. 
How much in having, or without or in, 
Cannot make boast to have that which he hath, 
Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection ; 
As when his virtues shining upon others 100 
Heat tliem and they retort that heat again 
To the first giver.' 

Achil. This is not strange, Ulysses. 

The beauty that is borne here in the face 
The bearer knows not, but commends itself 
To others' eyes ; nor doth the eye itself, 
That most pure si)ii'itof sense, behold itself, 
Not going from itself ; but eye to eye opposed 
Salutes each other with each other's form ; 
For speculation turns not to itself. 
Till it hath travell'd and is rairror'd there 110 
Where it nuiy see itself. This is not strange 
at all. 
Uly.'is. I do not strain at the position, — 
It is familiar, — but at the author's drift ; 
Who, in his circum.sumce, expressly proves 
That no man is the lord of any thing, 
Thougli in and of liim there be much consist- 
ing, 
Till he communicate his parts to others ; 
Nor ddth he of himself know them for aught 
Till he behold them form'd in the applause 
Where they're extended ; who, like an arch, 
reverberates 12C 



Scene hi.] 



TBOILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



765 



The voice again, or, like a gate of steel 
Flouting the sun, receives and renders back 
His figure and liis heat. 1 was much wrapt in 

this ; 
And apprehended here immediately 
The unknown Ajax. 

Heavens, what a man is there ! a very horse. 
That has he knows not what. Nature, what 

things there are 
Most abject in regard and dear in use ! 
What things again most dear in the esteem 
And poor in worth ! Now shall we see to- 
morrow — 130 
An act that very chance doth throw upon 

him — 
Aiax renown'd. O heavens, what some men 

do. 
While some men leave to do ! 
How some men creep in skittish fortune's 

hall, 
Whiles others play the idiots in her eyes ! 
How one man eats into another's pride, 
WWle pride is fasting in his wantonness ! 
To see these Grecian lords ! — why, even al- 
ready 
They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder, 
As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast 
And great Troy shrieking. 141 

Achil. I do believe it ; for they pass'd by 

me 
As misers do by beggars, neither gave to nie 
Good word nor look : what, are my deeds 

forgot ? 
Ulyss. Time liath, my lord, a wallet at his 

back, 
Wherein he puts alms for oblivion, 
A great-sized monster of ingratitudes : 
Those scraps are good deeds past ; which are 

devour'd 
As fast as they are made, forgot as soon 
As done : perseverance, dear my lord, 150 
Keeps honor bright : to have dune is to hang 
Quite out of fashion, like a rusty nuiil 
In monumental mockery. Take the instant 

way ; 
For honor travels in a strait so narrow, 
Where one but goes abreast : keep then the 

path • 
For emulation hath a thousand sons 
That one by one pursue : if j'ou give way, 
Or hedge aside fiom tlie direct forthright, 
Like to an enter d tivle, they all rush by 
And leave you l!iniln>ost ; 160 

Or, like a gallanf horse fall'n in first rank, 
Lie there for pavement to the abject rear, 
O'er-run and trampled on : then what tliey do 

in jjreseiit. 
Though less tlian yours in past, must o'ertop 

yours ; 
For time is like a fashionable host 
That slightly shakes his parting guest by the 

hand,' Ifiy, 

And with his arms outstretch'd, as he would 
Grasps in the comer : welcome ever smiles, 
And farewell goes out sighing. 0, let not 

virtue seek 



170 



Remuneration for the thing it was ; 

For beauty, wit, 

High birth, vigor of bone, desert in service, 

Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all 

To envious and calumniating time. 

One touch of nature makes the whole world 

kin, 
That all with one consent praise new-born 

gawds. 
Though they are made and moulded of things 

past, 
And give to dust that is a little gilt 
More laud than gilt o'er-d listed. 
The present eye praises tlie present object: 
Then marvel not, thou great and complete 

man, 181 

That all the Greeks begin to worship Ajax ; 
Since things in motion sooner catch the eye 
Thau what not stirs. The cry went once on 

thee, 
And still it might, and yet it may again. 
If thou wouldst not entomb thyself alivo 
And case thy reputation in thy tent ; 
Whose glorious deeds, but in these fields of 

late, 
Made emulous missions 'mongst the god;- 

themselves 
And drave great Mars to faction. 

Achil. Of this my privacy 190 

I liave strong reasons. 

Uhjss. But 'gainst your privacy 

The reasons are more potent and heroical : 
'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love 
With one of Priam's daughters. 
Achil. Ha ! known I 

Uhjss. Is that a wonder ? 
The providence that's in a watchful state 
Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold, 
Finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deeps. 
Keeps place with thought and almost, like tlie 

gods. 
Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles. 
There is a mystery — with whom relation 201 
Durst never meddle — in the soul of state ; 
Which hath an operation more divine 
Tlian breath or pen can give expressure to : 
All the commerce that you have had with 

Troy 
As perfectly is ours as yours, my lord ; 
And betterVould it fit'Acliilles much 
To throw down Hector than Polyxena : 
But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at 

home, 210 

When fame shall in our islands sound her 

trump, 
And all tlie Greekish girls shall tripping sing, 
' Great Hector's sister did Achilles win. 
But our great Ajax bravely beat down liim.' 
Farewell, my lord : I as your lover speak ; 
The fool slides o'er the ice tliat you should 

break-. " [IJxit. 

Pali: To this effect, Achilles, h;i\e I moved 

you : 
A woman impudent and mannish grown 
Is not more loathed th;in an effeminate man 
In time of action. I stand condemu'd for this ; 



766 



TROtLUS AND CRESSTDA, 



[Act IV. 



They think my little stomach to the war 220 
And your great love to me restrains you thus: 
Sweet, rouse yourself ; and the weak wanton 

Cupid 
Shall from j'our neck unloose his amorous 

fold, 
And, like a dew-drop from tlie lion's mane. 
Be shook to air. 
Achil. Shall Ajax fight with Hector ? 

Patr. Ay, and perhaps receive much honor 

by liim. 
Achil. I see my reputation is at stake ; 
My fame is shrewdly gored. 

Patr. 0, then, beware ; 

Those wounds heal ill that men do give them- 
selves : 
Omission to do what is necessary 230 

Seals a commission to a blank of danger ; 
And danger, like an ague, subtly taints 
Even then when we sit ialy in the sun. 
Achil. Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patro- 
clus : 
I'll send the fool to Ajax and desire him 
To invite the Trojan lords after the combat 
To see us here unarm'd : I have a woman's 

longing. 
An appetite that I am sick withal. 
To see jjrcat Hector in his weeds of peace, 
To talk witli him and to behold his visage, 
Even to my full of view. 241 

Enter Theksites. 

A labor saved ! 

Titer. A wonder ! 

Achil. What ? 

Ther. Ajax goes up and down the field, 
asking for himself. 

Achil. How so ? 

Thcr. He must fight singly to-morrow with 
Hector, and .is so prophetically proud of an 
heroical cudgelling that he raves in saying 
nothing. 

Achil. How can that be ? 250 

The)-. Why, he stalks up and down like a 
peacock, — a stride and a stand : ruminates 
like an hostess that hath no arithmetic but her 
brain to set down her reckoning : bites his lip 
with a politic regard, as who should say 
'There were wit in this head, an 'twould 
out;' and so there is, but it lies as coldly in 
him as fire in a flint, which will not show 
witliout knocking. The man's undone for- 
ever ; for if Hector break not his neck i' the 
combat, he'll break 't himself in vain-glory. 
He knows not me : I said ' Good morrow, 
Aja.x; ' and he replies ' Thanks, Agamemnon.' 
Wliat think you of this man that takes me for 
the general ? He's grown a very land-fish, 
languageless, a monster. A i^lague' of oiiinion ! 
a man may wear it on both .sides, like a leather 
jerkin. 

Achil. Thou must be my ambassador to 
him, Thersites. 

Ther. Who, I? why, he'll answer nobody; 
he professes not answering : speaking is for 
beggars ; he wears his tongue iu's arms. I 



will put on his presence : let Patroclus make 
demands to me, you shall see the pageant of 
Ajax. 

Achil. To him, Patroclus ; tell him I hum- 
bly desire the valiant Ajax to invite the most 
valorous Hector to come unarmed to my tent, 
and to procure safe-conduct for his person ot 
the magnanimous and most illustrious six-or 
seven-times-lionored captain-general of the 
Grecian army, Agamemnon, et cetera. Do 
this. 280 

Pat1 . Jove bless great Ajax ! 

Ther. Hum ! 

Patr. I come from the worthy Achilles, — 

Ther. Ha ! 

Patr. Who most humbly desires you ta 
invite Hector to his tent, — 

Ther. Hum ! 

Patr. And to procure safe-conduct from 
Agamemnon. 

Ther. Agamemnon ! 29C 

Patr. Ay, my lord. 

Ther. Ha! 

Patr. What say you to 't ? 

Thcr. God b' wi' you, with all my heart. 

Patr. Your answer, sir. 

Tlier. \i to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven 
o'clock it will go one way or other : how- 
soever, he shall pay for me ere he has me. 

Patr. Your answer, sir. 

Ther. Fare you well, with all my heart. 

Achil. Why, but he is not in this tune, is 
he ? 301 

Ther. No, but he's out o' tune thus. What 
music will be in him when Hector has knocked 
out his brains, I know not ; but, [ am sure, 
none, unless the fiddler Apollo get his sinews 
to make catlings on. 

Achil. Come, thou shalt bear a letter to 
him straight. 

Ther. Let me bear another to his horse ; 
for that's the more capable creature. 310 

Achil. My mind is troubled, like a fountain 
stirr'd ; 
And I myself see not the bottom of it. 

[Exeunt Achilles and Patroclus. 

Ther. Would the fountain of your mind 
were clear again, tliat I might water an ass at 
it ! I had rather be a tick in a sheep than 
such a valiant ignorance. Exit. 



ACT IV. 



Scene I. Troy. A street. 

Enter, from one side, ^neas, and Servant 
ivith a torch ; from, the other, Paris, Dei- 
PHOBUs, Antenor, Diomedes, and others, 
vn'.th torches. 

Par. See, ho ! who is that there ? 
Dei. It is the Lord .lEneas. 

^ne. Is the prince there in person ? 

Had I so good occasion to lie long 

As you. Prince Paris, nothing but heavenly 
business 



Scene ii.] 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



T67 



Should rob my bed-mate of my compaay. 

Dio. That's my miud too. Good morrow, 
Lord jEneas. 

Par. A valiant Greek, ^neas,— take his 
hand, — 
Witness the process of your speech, wherein 
You told how Dionied, a whole week by days, 
Did luinnt you in the field. 

^'Ene. Health to j'ou, valiant sir, 10 

During all question of the gentle truce ; 
But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance 
As heart can think or courage execute. 

Dio. The one and other Diouied embraces. 
Our bloods are now in calm ; and, so long, 

liealth ! 
But when contention and occasion meet, 
By Jove, I'll play the hunter for thy life 
With all my force, pursuit and policy. 

yEne. And thou shalt hunt a lion, that will 

fly 

With his face backward. In humane gentle- 
ness, 20 
Welcome to Troy ! now, by Anchises' life. 
Welcome, indeed ! By Venus' hand I swear. 
No man alive can love in such a sort 
The thing he means to kill more excellently. 
Dio. We sympathize : Jove, let .^neas 
live. 
If to my sword his fate be not the glory, 
A thousand complete courses of the sun ! 
But, in mine emulous honor, let him die. 
With every joint a wound, and that to-mor- 
row ! 
.^ne. We know each other well. 30 
Dio. We do ; and long to know each other 

worse. 
Par. This is the most despiteful gentle 
greeting, 
The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of. 
What business, lord, so early ? 
^ne. I was sent for to the king ; but whj-, 

I know not. 
Par. His purpose meets you : 'twas to 
bring this Greek 
To Calchas' house, and there to render him, 
For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid : 
Let's have your company, or, if you please. 
Haste there before us : I constantly do 
think— 40 

Or rather, call ray thought a certain knowl- 
edge — 
My brother Troilus lodges there to-night : 
Rouse kim and give him note of our ap- 
proach. 
With the whole quality wherefore : I fear 
We shall be much unwelcome. 

^■Ene. That I assure you : 

Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece 
Than Cressid borne from Troy. 

Far. There is no help ; 

The bitter disposition of the time 
Will have it so. On, lord ; we'll follow you. 
.iSne. Good morrow, all. 50 

[Exit tcith Servant. 
Par, And tell me, noble Diomed, faith, tell 
me true, 



Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship. 
Who, in your thoughts, merits fair Helen 

best, 
Myself or Menelaus ? 

Dio. Both alike : 

He merits well to have her, that doth seek 

her. 
Not making any scruple of her soilure. 
With such a hell of pain and world of charge. 
And you as well to keep her, that defend her, 
Not palating the taste of her dishonor, 
With such a costly loss of wealth and friends; 
He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up 61 
The lees and dregs of a flat tamed piece ; 
You, like a lecher, out of whorish loins 
Are pleased to breed out your inheritors : 
Both merits iwised, each weighs nor less not 

more ; 
But he as he, the heavier for a whore. 
Par. You are too bitter to your country- 
woman. 
Dio. She's bitter to her country : hear me, 

Paris : 
For every false drop in her bawdy veins 
A Grecian's life hath sunk ; for every scruple 
Of her contaminated carrion weight, 71 

A Trojan hath been slain : since she could 

speak, 
She hath not given so many good words 

breath 
As for her Greeks and Trojans suffer'd death. 
Par. Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do. 
Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy : 
But we in silence hold this virtue well. 
We'll but commend what we intend to sell. 
Here lies our way. \_Exeuni. 

Scene II. The same. Court of Pandarus' 
house. 

Enter Troilus and Cressida. 

Tro. Dear, trouble not youreelf : the mom 

is cold. 
Cres. Then, sweet my lord, I'll call mina 
uncle down ; 
He shall unbolt the gates. 

Tro. Trouble him not ; 

To bed, to bed : sleep Icill those pretty eyes. 
And give as soft attachment to thj' senses 
As infants' empty of all thought ! 

Cres. Good morrow, then- 

Tro. I xjrithee now, to bed. 
Cres. Are you a-weary of me ? 

Tro. Cressida ! but that the busy day. 
Waked by the lark, hath roused the ribald 

crows , 
And dreaming night will hide our joys no 

longer. 
I would not from thee. 

Cres. Night hath been too brieL 

Tro. Beshrew the witch ! v/ith venomous 
wights she stays 
As tediously as hell, but flies the grasps of 

love 
With wings more momentary-swift tha» 
tliought. 



768 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



[Act 



You will catch cold, and curse me. 

Cres. Prithee, tarry : 

You men will never tarry. 

foolish Cressid ! I might have still held off, 
And then you would have tarried. Hark ! 

there's one up. 
Pan. [ Withiiil What, 's all the doors open 

here ? 
Tro. It is your uncle. 20 

Ores. A pestilence on him ! now will he be 

mocking : 

1 shall have such a life ! 

Enter Pandarus. 

Pan. How now, how now ! how go maid- 
en-heads ? Here, you maid ! where's my 
jousin Cressid ? 
Ores. Go hang yourself, you naughty mock- 
ing uncle ! 
You bring me to do, and then you flout me 
too. 
Pan. To do what? to do what? let her 
say what : what have I brought you to do ? 
Ores. Come, come, beshrew your heart ! 
you'll ne"er be good, 30 

Xor suffer others. 

Pan. Ha, ha I Alas, ])oor wretch ! ah, poor 
capocchia ! hast not slept to-night ? would he 
uot, a naughty man, let it sleep ? a bugbear 
take him ! 

Cres. Did not I tell you ? Would he were 
knock'd i' the head ! [Knocking within. 
Who's that at door? good uncle, go and see. 
My lord, come you again into my chamber : 
You smile and mock me, as if I meant 
naughtily. 
T)'0. Ha, ha ! 39 

Ores. Come, you are deceived, I think of 
no such thing. [Knocking within. 

How earnestly tliey knock ! Pray you, come 

in : 

I would not for half Troy have you seen here. 

[Exeunt Troilus and Oressida. 

Pan. Who's tliere ? what's the matter ? 

will you beat down the door ? How now ! 

what's the matter ? 

Enter ^neas. 
yEne. Good morrow, lord, good morrow. 
Pan. WJio's there ? my Lord ^neas ! By 
my troth, 
I knew you not : what news with you so 
early ? 
yEne. Is not Prince Troilus here ? 
Pan. Here ! what should lie do here ? 50 
yE/ie. Come, he is here, ray lord ; do not 
deny him : 
It doth import him much to speak with me. 

Pan. Is he here, say you ? 'tis more than 
I know, I'll be sworn ■ for my own part, I 
came in lata What sliould he do here ? 

.^ne. Who ! — nay, then : come, come, 
you'll do him wrong ere you're ware : you'll 
be so true to him, to be false to him :,do not 
you know of him, but yet go fetch him hith- 
er ; go. 



Re-enter Teoilus. 

Tro. How now ! what's the matter ? fiO 

yEne. My lord, I scarce have leisure to 
salute you. 
My matter is so rash : there is at hand 
Paris yoiA- brother, and Deiphobus, 
The Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor 
Deliver'd to us ; and for him forthwith, 
Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour, 
We must give up to Diomedes' hand 
The Lady Cressida. 

Tro. Is it so concluded ? 

.^7ie. By Priam and the general state of 
Troy : 
They are at hand and ready to effect it. 70 

Tro. How my achievements mock me ! 
I will go meet them : and, my Lord Jineas, 
We met by chance ; you did not find me here. 

yEiie. Good, good, my lord ; the secrets of 
nature 
Have not more gift in taciturnity. 

[Exetint Troilus and yEneas. 

Pan. Is't possible ? no sooner got but lost ? 
The devil take Antenor ! the young prince 
will go mad : a plague upon Antenor ! I 
would they had broke 's neck ! 

Re-enter Cressida. 

Ores. How now ! what's the matter ? who 
was here ? 81 

Pan. Ah, ah ! 

Cres. Why sigh you so profoundly ? where's 
my lord ? gone ! Tell me, sweet uncle, 
what's the matter ? 

Pan. Would I were as deep under the 
earth as I am above ! 

Cres. O the gods ! what's the matter ? 

Pan. Prithee, get thee in : would thou 
liadst ne'er been born ! I knew thou wouldst 
be his death. 0, poor gentleman ! A plague 
\\\)on Antenor ! 

Cres. Good uncle, I beseech you, on my 
knees I beseech you, what's the matter ? 

Pan. Thou must be gone, wench, thou 
must be gone ; thou art changed for Ante- 
nor : thou must to thy father, and be gone 
from Troilus : 'twill be his death ; 'twill be 
his bane ; he cannot bear it. 

Ores. O vou immortal gods ! I will not go. 

Pan. Thou must. 101 

Ores. I will not, uncle: I have forgot my 
father ; 
I know no touch of consanguinity ; 
No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me 
As the sweet Troilus. O you godg divine ! 
Make Cressid' s name the very crown of false- 
hood, 
If ever she leave Troilus ! Time, force, and 

death. 
Do to this body what extremes you can ; 
But the strong base and building of my love 
Is as the very centre of the earth, 110 

Drawing all things to it. I'll go in and 
weep, — 

Pan. Do, do. 



Scene iv.] 



TROILUS AND CRESS IDA. 



769 



(Jres. Tear my bright liair and scratch my 

praised cheeks, 
Crack my clear voice with sobs and break my 

heart 
With sounding Troilus. I will not go from 

Troy. \_Exeimt. 

ScF.«E III. The same. Street before Pan- 
dams' house. 

Enter Paris, Troilus, ^neas, Deiphobus, 
Antenok, and Diomedes. * 

Far. It is great morning, and the hour 
prefix' d 
Of her delivery to this valiant Greek 
Comes fast upon. Good my brother Troilus, 
Tell you the lady what she is to do, 
And haste her to the purpose. 

Tro. Walk into her house ; 

I'll bring her to the Grecian presently : 
And to ins hand when I deliver her, 
Think it an altar, and thy brother Troilus 
A priest there offering to it his own heart. 

[Exit. 

Par. I know what 'tis to love ; 
And would, as I shall pity, I could help ! 
Please you walk in, my lords. [Exeimt. 

S(!ENE IV. The same. Pandamis' house. 

Enter Pandarus and Cressida. 
Pan. Be moderate, be moderate. 
Ores. Why tell you me of moderation ? 
The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I ta.ste. 
And violenteth in a sense as strong 
As that which causeth it : how can I moder- 
ate it ? 
If I could temporize with my affection, 
Or brew it to a weak and colder palate. 
The like allayment could I give my grief : 
My love admits no qualifying dross ; 
No more my grief, in such a precious loss. 10 
Pan. Here, here, here he comes. 
Enter Troilus. 
Ah, sweet ducks ! 

Ores. O Troilus ! Troilus ! [Embracinr/ him. 
Pan. What a pair of spectacles is here! Let 
me embrace too. ' O heart,' as the goodly 
saying is, 

' O heart, heavy heart, 

Wliy sigh'st thou without breaking ? ' 
where he answers again, 

' Because thou canst not ease thy smart 20 
By friendship nor by speaking.' 
There was never a truer rhyme. Let us cast 
away nothing, for we may live to have need 
of such a verse : we see it, we see it. How 
vow, lambs ? 

Tro. Cressid, I love thee in so strain'd a 
purity. 
That the bless'd gods, as angry with ray 

fancy, 
More bright in zeal than the devotion which 
Cold lips blow to their deities, take thee from 
me. 
Ores. Have the gods envy ? 30 



Pan. Ay, ay, ay, ay ; 'tis too plain a case. 

Ores. And is it true that I must go from 
Troy? 

Tro. A liateful truth. 

Ores. What, and from Troilus too ? 

Tro. From Troy and Troilus. 

Ores. Is it possible ? 

2'ro. And suddenly ; where injury of 
chance 
Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by 
All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips 
Of all rejolndure, forcibly i)revents 
Our lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear 
vows .39 

Even in the birth of our own laboring breath 
We two, that with so many thousand sighs 
Did buy each other, must poorly sell our- 
selves 
With tlie rude brevity and discharge of one. 
Injurious time now witli a robber's haste 
Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how: 
As many farewells as "be stars in heaven. 
With distinct breath and consign' d kisses to 

them, 
He fumbles up into a lose adieu. 
And scants us with a single famish'd kiss, 
Distasted with the salt of broken tears. 50 

yE/ie. [ Within] My lord, is the lady ready? 

Tro. Hark ! you are call'd : some say the 
Genius so 
Cries ' come ' to him that instantly must die. 
Bid them have patience ; she shall come anon. 

Pan. Where are my tears ? rain, to lay this 
wind, or my heart will be blown up by the 
root. [Exit. 

Ores. I must then to the Grecians ? 

T7-0. No remedy. 

Ores. A woful Cressid 'mongst the merry 
Greeks ! 
When shall we see again ? 

Tro. Hear me, my love : be thou but true 
of heart, — 60 

Ores. I true ! how now ! what wicked deem 
is this ? 

Tro. Nay, we must use expostulation kindly, 
For it is parting from us : 
I speak not 'be thou true.' as fearing thee, 
For I will throw my glove to Death himself, 
That there's no maculation in thy heart : 
But ' be thou true,' saj' I, to fashion in 
My sequent protestation ; be thou true. 
And I will see thee. 

Oi'es. O, you shall be exposed, my lord, to 
dangers 70 

As infinite as imminent ! but I'll be true. 

2ro. And I'll grow friend with danger. 
Wear this sleeve. [see > ou ? 

Oi'es. And you this glove. When shall 1 

Tro. I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels, 
To give thee nightly vi.sitation. 
But yet be true. 

Ores. heavens ! * be true ' again ' 

Tro. Hear while I speak it, love : 
The Grecian youths are full of quality ; 
They're loving, well composed with gifts of 
nature, 

49 



770 



TliOILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



[Act IV 



Flowing a,nd swelling o'er witii arts and ex- 
ercise : 80 
How novelty may move, and pa-rts with per- 
son, 
Mas, a kind of godly jealousy — 
Which, I beseech yon, call a virtuous sin — 
Makes me afeard. 

Ores. O heavens ! you love me not. 

Tro. Die I a villain, then ! 
In this I do not call your faith in question 
So mainly as my merit : I cannot sing, 
Nor heel the high lavolt, nor sweeten talk, 
Nor play at subtle games ; fair virtues all, 
To which the Grecians are most prompt and 
pregnant : 90 

But I can tell that in each grace of these 
Tliere lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil 
That tempts most cunningly : but be not 
tempted. 

Ores. Do you think I will ? 

Tro. No. 
But something may be done that we will not : 
And sometimes we are devils to ourselves. 
When V7e will tempt the frailty of our powers. 
Presuming on their changeful potency. 

^iie. iWithin] Nay, good my lord, — 

Tro. Come, kiss ; and let us part. 100 

Par. [ Within] Brother Troilus ! 

Tro. Good brother, come you hither ; 

And bring ^neas and the Grecian with you. 

Cres. My lord, will you be true ? 

Tro. Who, I ? alas, it is my vice, my fault : 
Whiles others fish with craft for great opinion, 
I with great truth catch mere simplicity ; 
Whilst some with cunning gild their copper 

crowns. 
With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare. 
Fear not my truth : the moral of my wit lOit 
Is ' plain and true ;' there's all the reach of it. 

Enter ^Eneas, Paris, Antenou, Deiphobus, 
and DiOMEDES. 

Welcome, Sir Diomed ! here is the lady 
Which for Antenor we deliver you : 
At the port, lord, I'll give her to thy hand, 
And by the way possess thee what she is. 
Entreat her fair ; and, by ray soul, fair Greek, 
If e'er thou stand at mercy ,of my sword. 
Name Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe 
As Priam is in Ilion. 

Dio. Fair Lady Cressid, 

So please you, save the thanks this prince 

expects : 
The lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek. 
Pleads your fair usage ; and to Diomed 121 
You shall be mistress, and command him 

wholly. [teously, 

Tro. Grecian, thou dost not use me cour- 
To shame the zeal of my petition to thee 
In praising her : I tell thee, lord of Greece, 
She is as far high-soaring o'er thy praises 
As thou unworthy to be call'd her servant. 
I charge thee use her well, even for my charge; 
For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not. 
Though the great bulk Achilles be thy guard, 
I'll cut thy til roai. 131 



Dio. 0, be not moved. Prince Troilus : 

Let me be privileged by my place and message, 
To be a speaker free ; when I am hence, 
I'll answer to my lust : and know you, lord, 
I'll nothing do on charge : to her own worth 
She shall be prized ; but that you say ' be't so,* 
I'll speak it in my spirit and honor, ' no.' 
Tro. Come, to the port. I'll tell thee, Dio- 
med, 
This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy 
head. 139 

Lady, give me your hand, and, as we walk. 
To our own selves bend we our needful talk. 
[Exeunt Troilus, C'ressida, and Diomedea. 
[Trumpet ivithin. 
Far. Hark ! Hector's trumpet. 
.lEnc. How liave we spent this morning ! 
The prince must think me tardy and remiss. 
That swore to ride before him to the field. 
Par. 'Tis Troilus' fault: come, come, to 

field with him. 
Dei. Let us make ready straight. 
^ne. Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh 
alacrity. 
Let us address to tend on Hector's heels : 
The glory of our Troy doth this day lie 
On Ills fair worth and single chivalry. 150 

[Exeunt. 

Scene V. The Grecian camp. Lists set out. 

Enter Ajax, armed ; Agamemnon, Achil- 
les, Patroclus, Menelaus, Ulysses, 
Nestor, and others. 

Agam. Here ait thou in api^ointment fresh 
and fair. 
Anticipating time with starting courage. 
Give with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy, 
Thou dreadful Ajax ; that the appalled air 
May pierce the head of the great combatant 
And hale him hither. 

Ajax. Thou, trumpet, there's my pnrse. 
Now crack thy lungs, and split thy brazion 

pipe : 
Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek 
Outswell the colic of puff'd Aquilon : 
Come, stretch thy che.st, and let thy eyes spout 
blood ; 10 

Thou blow'st for Hector. [Trumpet sounds 
Ulyss. No trumpet answers. 
Achil. 'Tis but early days. 

Agam. Is not yond Diomed, with Calchas' 

daughter ? 
Ulxjss. 'Tis he, I ken the manner of his 
gait ; 
He rises on the toe : that spirit of his 
In aspiration lifts him from the earth. 

Enter Diomedes, with Cressida. 

Agam. Is this the Lady Cressid ? 

Dio. Even she. 

Agam. Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, 

sweet lady. 
Nest. Our general doth salute you with a 

kiss. 
Ulyss. Yet is the kindness but particular ; 



Scene v.] 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



771 



'Twere better she were kiss'd in general. 21 
Ni'St. And very courtly counsel : I'll begin. 
So much for Nestor. 
Achil. I'll take that winter from your lips, 
fair lady : 
Achilles bids you welcome. 
Men. I had good argument for kissing 

once. 
Patr. But that's no argument for ki.s.sing 
now ; 
For this i)oi)p'd Paris in his hardiment. 
And parted thus you and your argument. 
Ulyss. deadly gall, and theme of all our 
scorns ! 30 

For whicli we lose our heads to gild his horns. 
Putr. The first was Menelaus' kiss : this, 
mine : 
Patroclus kisses you. 
Men. O, this is trim ; 

Patr. Paris and I kiss evermore for him. 
Men. I'll have my kiss, sir. Lady, by your 

leave. 
Cres. In kissing, do you render or receive ? 
Patr. Both take and give. 
Cres. I'll make my match to live. 

The kiss you take is better than you give ; 
Therefore no kiss. 
Men. I'll give you boot. Til give you three 
for one. 40 

Cre.s. You're an odd man ; give even or give 

none. 
Men. An odd man, lady ! every man is odd. 
C'/'e.s. No, Paris is not ; for you know 'tis 
true, 
That you are odd, and he is even with you. 
Men. You fillip me o' the liead. 
Cres. No, I'll be sworn. 

I'ii/.'is. It were no match, your nail against 
his horn. 
May I, sweet lady, beg a kiss of you ? 
Crts. You may. 
dli/ss. I do desire it. 

O'f.s. Why, beg, then. 

Ulyss. Why then for Venus' sake, give me 
a kiss, 
When Helen is a maid again, and his. 50 

Cres. I am your debtor, claim it when 'tis 

due. 
Ulyss. Never's my day, and then a kiss of 

you. 

Dio. Lady, a word : I'll bring you to your 

father. [Exit with Cres'sida. 

Nest. A woman of quick sense. 

Ulyss. Fie, fie upon her ! 

There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, 

Nay, her foot speaks ; her wanton spirits look 

out 
At every joint and motive of her body. 
O, these encounterers, so glib of tongue, 
Thnt give accosting welcome ere it conies. 
And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts 
To every ticklish reader 1 set them down 61 
For sluttish spoils of opportunity 
And daughters of the game. [Trumpet ^cithin. 
All. the Trojans' trumpet. 
Aga$n. Yonder comes the troop. 



Enter Hector, armed; .^nea.s, Troilus, and 
other Trojans, ivith Attendants. 

yEne. Hail, all you state of Greece I what 
shall be done 
To him that victory commands ? or do you 

purpose 
A victor .=liall be known ? will you the knights 
Shall to the edge of all extremity 
Pursue each other, or shall be divided 
By any voice or order of Jhe tield ? 70 

Hector bade ask. 

Af/am. Which way would Hector liave it? 
yEne. He cares not ; he'll obey conditions. 
Acliil. 'Tis done like Hector ; butsecurely 
done, 
A little proudly, and great deal misprizing 
The knight oppo.sed. 

y£'ne. If not Achilles, sir. 

What is your name ? 
Achil. If not Achilles, nothing. 

^Ene. Therefore Achilles : but, whate'er. 
know this : 
In tlie extremity of great and little. 
Valor and pride excel themselves in Hector ; 
The one almost as infinite as all, 80 

The other blank as nothing. Weigh him well, 
And tliat which looks lilie iiriile is courtesy. 
This Ajax is half made ul Hector's blood : 
In love whereof, halt Hector stays at home ; 
Half heart, half hand, half Hector comes to 

seek 
This blended knight, half Trojan and half 
Greek. 
Achil. A maiden battle, then ? O, I per- 
ceive you. 

lie-enter Diomedes. 

Ayam. Here is Sir Dujuied. - Go, gentle 

knight, 
Stand by our Ajax : as you and Lord .(Eneas 
Consent upon the order of their fight, 90 

So be it ; either to the uttermost. 
Or else a breath : the combatants being kin 
Half stints their strife before tlieir strokes be- 
gin. [Ajax and Hector enter the lists, 
Ulyss. They are opposed already. 
Af/am. What Trojan is that same that looks 

•so heavy ? 
Ulyss. The youngest sou of Priam, a true 

knight. 
Not yet mature, yet matchless, firm of word. 
Speaking in deeds and deedless in his tongue ; 
Not soon provoked nor being provoked soon 

calm'd : 
His heart and hand both open and both free ; 
For what lie has he gives, what thinks he 

shows ; 101 

Yet gives he not till judgment guide his 

bounty. 
Nor dignifies an impure thought with breath ; 
Manly as Hector, but more dangerous : 
For Hector in his blaze of wrath subscribes 
To tender objects, but he in heat of action 
Is more vindicative than jealous love • 
They call him Troilus, and on him erect 



772 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



[Act IV. 



A second hope, as fairly built as Hector. 
Thus says ^neas ; one that knows the youth 
Even to his inches, and with private soul 111 
Did ill great Iliou tluis translate him to me. 

l^Alarimi. Hector and AJaxJi<jhl. 

Ar/am. They are in action. 

Nest. Now, Ajax, hold thine own ! 

2Vo. Hector, thou sleep'st ; 

Awako thee ! 

A<i<mi. His blows are well disposed : there, 
Ajax ! 

Dio. You must no more, [Trumpets cease. 

yFjiie. Princes, enough, so please yon. 

Ajax. I am not warna yet ; let us light 
again. 

Dio. As Hector pleases. 

Ilect. Why, then will I no ra<n'e : 

Thou art, gi-eat lord, my father's sister's son, 
A cousin-german to great Priam's seed ; 121 
The obligation of our blood forbids 
A gory emulation 'twixt us twain : 
Were thy commixtion Greek and Trojan so 
That thou couldst say ' This hand is Grecian 

all. 
And this is Trojan ; the sinews of this leg 
All Greek, and this all Troy ; my mother's 

blood 
Runs on tlie dexter cheek, and this sinister 
Bounds in my father's ; ' by Jove multipotent. 
Thou shouldst not bear from me a Greekish 
member 130 

Wherein my sword had not impressure made 
Of our rank feud : but tlie just gods gainsay 
That any dro)) thou borrow'dst from thy 

mother. 
My sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword 
Be drain'd ! Let me embrace thee, Ajax : 
By him that tliunders, thou hast lusty arms ; 
Hector would li;ive them fall upon him thus : 
Cousin, all honor to thee ! 

Ajax. I tliank thee, Hector : 

Thou art too gentle and too free a man : 
1 came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence 140 
A great addition earned in tliy death. 

Hect. Not Neoptolenuxs so mirable. 
On whose bright crest Fame with her loud'st 

Oyes 
Cries ' This is he,' could promise to himself 
A thought of added honor torn from Hector. 

yEne. Tliere is expectance here from both 
the sides. 
What further you will do. 

Hect. We'll answer it ; 

The issue is embr.acement : Ajax, farewell. 

Ajax. If I miglit in entreaties find success — 
As seld I have the cliance — I would desire 150 
My famous cousin to our Grecian tents. 

Dio. 'Tis Agamemnon's wish, and great 
Achilles 
Doth long to see unarm'd the valiant Hector. 

Hect. Jineas, call my brother Troilus to 
me. 
And signify this loving interview 
To the expecters of our Trojan part ; 
Desire them home. Give me thy hand, my 
cousin ; 



I will go eat with thee and see your knights. 
Ajax. Great Agamemnon comes to meet us 

here. 
Hect. The worthiest of them tell me name 
by name ; IHO 

But for Achilles, mine own searching eyes 
Shall find liim by is large and portly size. 
Ai/am. Worthy of arms ! as welcome as to 
one 
That would be rid of such an enemy ; 
But that's no welcome : understand more clear, 
What's past and what's to come is strew'd 

with husks 
And formless ruin of oblivion ; 
But in this extant moment, faith and troth, 
Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-drawing, 
Bids thee, with most divine integrity, 170 

From heart of very heart, great Hector, wel- 
come. 
Hect. I thank thee, most imperious Aga- 
memnon. 
A[/am. [To Troilu.'^] My well-famed loi'd 

of Troy, no less to you. 
Men. Let me confirm my princely brother's 
greeting : 
You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither. 
Hect. Who must we answer ? 
^^ne. The noble Menelaus. 

Hect. 0, you, my lord ? by Mars his gaunt- 
let, thanks ! 
Mock not, that I affect the uutraded oath ; 
Your quondam wife swears still by Venus' 

glove : 
She's well, but bade me not commend her to 
you. 180 

Men. Name her not now, sir ; she's a deadly 

theme. 
Hect. O, i)ardon ; I offend. 
Ne.<(t. I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee 
oft 
Laboring for destiny make cruel way 
Tlirough ranks of Greekish youth, and I have 

seen thee. 
As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed, 
Despising many forfeits and subdueraents, 
When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i' 

the air, 
Not letting it decline on the declined, 
That I have said to some my standers by 190 
' Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life ! ' 
And I have seen thee pause and take thy 

breath, 
When that a ring of Greeks have liemm'd thee 

in. 
Like an Olympian wrestling: this have I seen; 
But this th.y countenanc^e, still lock'd in steel, 
I never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire. 
And once fought with him : he was a soldier 

good ; 
But, by great Mars, the captain of us all, 
Never like thee. Let an old mau embrace 

thee ; 
And, worth V warrior, welcome to our tents. 
^ne. 'tis the old Nestor. 201 

Hect, Let me embracd thee, good old chrou- 
icle. 



Scene v.] 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



773 



That hast so loug walk'd baud in hand with 

time : 
Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee. 
Nest. I would my arms could match thee in 
couteiition, 
As they contend with thee in courtesy. 
Hoct. I would they could. 
Xest. Ha ! 
By this white beard, I'ld fight with thee to- 
morrow. 
Well, welcome, welcome ! — I have seen the 
time. '210 

I'hjHS. I wonder now how yonder city 
stands 
Wlicn we have liere her base and pillar by us. 
Hvct. I know your favor. Lord Ulysses, 
well. 
Ah, sir, there's many a Greek and Trojan 

dead. 
Since first I saw yourselt and Diomed 
In Ilion, on your Greekish emljassy. 

Ulj/ss. Sir, I foretold you then what would 
ensue : 
My prophecy is but half his journey yet ; 
For yonder walls, that pertly front your town, 
Youd towers, whose wanton tops do buss the 
clouds, 220 

Must kiss their own feet. 

Hcrt. I must not believe you: 

There they stand yet, and modestly I think, 
The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost 
A droi) of Grecian blood : the end crowns all, 
Auc' that old common arbitrator, Time, 
Will one day end it. 

THf/Ks. So to him we leave it. 

Most gentle and most valiant Hector, wel- 
come : 
After the general, I beseech you next 
To feast with me and see me at my tent. 
ArhU. 1 shall forestall thee, Lord Ulysses, 
thou ! 230 

Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee ; 
I have witli exact view perused thee, Hector, 
And quoted joint by joint, 
Ilcrt. Is this Achilles ? 

ArhU, I am Achilles. 
Ilect. Stand fair, I pray thee : let me look 

on tliee. 
ArhU. Behold thy fill. 
Hect. Nay, I have done already. 

AchU. Tiiou art too brief : I will the second 
time. 
As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb. 
Heel. (>, like a book of sport thou'lt read 
me o'er ; 
But there's more in me than thou under- 
stand'st. 240 

Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye ? 
ArhU. Tell me, you heavens, in which part 
of his body 
Shall I destroy liim ? whether there, or there, 

or there '■* 
That I may give the local wound a name 
And make distinct the very breach whereout 
Hector's great spirit flew : answer me, 
beaveus I 



Hect. It would discredit the blest gods, 
proud man. 
To answer such a ipiestion : stand again : 
Tliink'st tliou to catch my life so pleasantly 
As to prenominate in nice conjecture 250 

Where thou wilt hit me dead ? 
AchU. I tell thee, yea. 

HerA. Wert thou an oracle to tell me so, 
rid not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee 

well ; 
For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor 

tlicre ; 
But, by tlie forge that .stithied Mars bis helm, 
I'll kill thee every where, yea, o'er and o'er. 
You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag ; 
His in,soIence draws folly from my lips ; 
But I'll endeavor deeds to match these words. 
Or may 1 never — 

Ajax. Do not chafe thee, cousin : 260 

And you, Achilles, let these threats alone. 
Till accident or purpose bring you to't : 
You may have every day enough of Hector, 
If you have stomach ; the general state, I fear. 
Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him. 
Hect. I pray you, let us see you in the 
field : 
We have had pelting wars, since you refused 
The Grecians' cause. 

AehU. Dost thou entreat me, Hector ? 

To-morrow do I meet thee, tell as death ; 
To-night all friends. 

Hert. Thy liand uiwin that match. 270 

Aijani. First, all you peers of Greece, go to 
my tent ; 
There in the full convive we : afterwards, 
As Hector's leisure and your bounties shall 
Concur together, severally entreat him. 
Beat loud the tabourines, let the trumpets 

blow, 
That this great soldier may his welcome know. 
[Exeunt all except TrvUus and Ulysses. 
Tro. My Lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech 
you. 
In what place of the field doth Calchas keep ? 
Ultjss. At Menelaus' tent, most princely 
Troilus : 279 

There Diomed doth feast with him to-night ; 
Who neither looks upon the heaven nor earth, 
But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view 
On the fair Cressid. 

Tro. Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to you 
so much. 
After we part from Agamemutm's tent. 
To bring me thither ? 

Ulyss. You shall command me, sir. 

As gentle tell me, of what honor was 
This Cressida in Troy ? Had she no lover 

there 
That wails her absence ? 

2'ro. O, sir, to such as boasting show tlieir 

scjirs 2i)0 

A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord ? 

She was beloved, she loved ; she is, aud 

doth : 
But still sweet love is food for fortune's tooth. 

lExeimi, 



/ T 



774 



TROILUS AND ORES SI DA. 



[Act \. 



ACT V. 

Scene I. 17*6 Grecian camp. Before Achilles' 
tent. 
Enter Achilles and PATRocLtrs. 

A(Ml. I'll heat his blood with Greeklsh 
wiue to-night, 
Which with my scimitar I'll cool to-morrow. 
Patroclus, let us feast him to the height. 

Patr. Here comes Thersites. 
Enter Thersites. 

Achil. How now, thou core of envy ! 

Thou crusty batcli of nature, what's the news ? 

Ther. Why, thou picture of what thou 
seeniest, and idol of idiot worshippers, here's 
a letter for thee, 

Achil. From whence, fragment ? 

Ther. Why, thou full dish of fool, from 
Troy. 10 

Pair. Who keeps the tent now ? 

Thev- The surgeon's box, or the patient's 
wound. 

Pair. Well said, adversity ! and what need 
these tricks ? 

Ther. Prithee, be silent, boy ; I profit not 
by thy talk : thou art thought to be Achilles' 
male varlet. 

Patr. Male varlet, you rogue ! what's 
that? ..7 6, 

Ther. Why, his masculine whore. Now, 
the rotten diseases of the south, the guts-gri])- 
ing, ruptures, catarrhs, loads o' gravel i' 
the back, lethargies, cold palsies, raw eyes, 
dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, bladders 
full of imposthume, sciaticas, limekilns i' the 
palm, incurable bone-ache, and the rivelled 
fee-simple of the tetter, take and take again 
such preposterous discoveries ! 

Patr. Why thou damnable box of envy, 
tliou, what meanest thou to curse thus ? 30 

Ther. Do I curse thee ? 

Patr. Why, no, you ruinous butt, you 
whore.son indistinguishable cur, no. 

Ther. No ! V7hy art thou then exasperate, 
thou idle immaterial skein of sleave-silk, thou 
green sarcenet flap for a sore eye, thou tassel 
of a prodigal's purse, thou ? Ah, how tlie 
poor world is pestered with such waterfliesy 
diminutives of nature ! 

Patr. Out, gall ! 40 

Ther. Finch-egg ! 

Achil. My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted 
quite 
From my great purpose in to-morrow's battle. 
Here is a letter from Queen Hecuba, 
A token from her daughter, my fair love. 
Both taxing me and gaging me to keep 
An oath that I have sworn. I will not break it: 
Fall Greeks ; fail fame ; honor or go or stay ; 
My major vow lies here, this I'll obey. 
Come, come, Ther.sites, help to trim my tent : 
This night in banqueting must all be spent. 51 
Away, Patroclus ! 

[Exeunt Achilles and Patroclus. 

Tlier. With too much blood and too little 



brain, these two may run mad ; but. if witt 
too much brain and too little blood they do, 
I'll be a cuver of madmen. Here's Agamem- 
non, an honest fellow enough and one that 
loves quails ; but he has not so much brain 
as earwax : and the goodly transformation 
of Jupiter there, liis brotlier, the bull, — the 
primitive statue, and oblique memorial of 
cuckolds ; a thrifty shoeing-horn in a chain, 
hanging at his brother's leg, — to what form 
but that he is, should wit larded with malice 
and malice forced with wit turn him to ? To 
an ass, were nothing ; he is both ass and ox : 
to an ox, were nothing ; he is both ox and ass. 
To be a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchew, a toad, 
a lizard, an owl, a puttock, or .a lierring witli- 
out a roe, I would not caire ; but to be Mene- 
laus, I would conspire against destiny. Ask 
me not what I would be, if I were not Ther- 
sites ; for I care not to be the louse of a lazar, 
so I were not Menelaus ! Hey-day ! spiri*4- 
and fires ! 
Enter Hector, Troilus, Ajax, Agamemnon, 

Ulysses, Nestor, Menelaus, and Dkj- 

MEDES, with liyhts. 

Af/am. We go wrong, we go wrong. 
Aja.c. No, yonder 'tis ; 

There, where we see the lights. 
Hect. I trouble you. 

Ajax. No, not a whit. 
IJlyss. Here comes himself to guide you. 

Re-enter Achilles. 
Achil. Welcome, brave Hector ; welcome, 

l)rinces all. 
Again. So now, fair prince of Troy, I bid 
good night. 
Ajax commands the guard to tend on you. 
Hect. Tlianks and good night to the 
Greeks' general. 80 

Men. Good night, my lord. 
Hect. Good night, sweet lord Menelaus. 

Ther. Sweet drauglit: ' sweet' quoth 'a ! 
sweet sink, sweet sewer. 
Achil. Good night and welcome, both at 
once, to those 
That go or tarry. 
Agam. Good night. 

[Exeunt Agamemnon and Menelaus. 
Achil. Old Nestor tarries ; and you too, 
Diomed, 
Keep Hector company an hour or two. 
Dio. I cannot, lord ; 1 have important bus- 
iness, 
The tide whereof is now. Good night, great 
Hector. 90 

Hect. Give me your hand. 
Ulijss. [Aside to Troilus] Follow his torch; 
he goes to Calchas' tent : 
I'll keep you company. 

Tro. Sweet sir, you honor me. 

Hect. And so, good night. 

[Exit Diomedes ; Ulysses and Troilus 

following. 

Achil. Come, come, enter my tent. 

[Exeunt Achilles, Hector, Ajax, and Nestor. 



Scene ii.] 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



776 



Ther- Tluit same Diomed's a false-liearted 
rogue, :i, ino.st unjust kuave ; I will no more 
trust him wlien he leers than I will a serpent 
when lie hisses : he will spend his mouth, and 
promise, like Brabbler the hound ; but when 
he performs, astronomers foretell it ; it is pro- 
dijiiou-s, there will come some change ; the sun 
boriows of the moon, when Diomed keeps his 
word. I will rather leave to see Hector, tlian 
not to dog him : they say he keeps a Trojan 
drab, and uses the traitor Calchas' tent: I'll 
after. Nothing but lechery ! all incontinent 
varlets ! {Exit. 

Scene If. The same. Before Calchas^ tent. 
Enter Diomedes. 

Dio. What, are von up here, ho ? speak. 

Cal. [Within] Who calls ? 

Dio. Diomed. Calclias, I think. Where's 

your daughter ? 
Cal. [ Within\ She comes to you. 

Enter Tkoilus ««(? Ulysses, o< a distance; 
after them, Thersites. 

Ulyss. Stand where the torch may not dis- 
cover us. 

Enter Ckessida. 

Tro. Cressid comes forth to him. 

l>i<>. How now, mj' charge ! 

C'res. Now, iny sweet guardian ! Hark, a 

word with you. [ Whisjjers. 

Tro. Yea, so familiar ! 
Ulyss. She will sing any man at first sight. 
Ther. And any man may sing her, if he 
:;an take her cliff ; slie's noted. 11 

Dio. Will you remember ? 
C'res. Remember ! yes. 
Dio. Nay, but do, then ; 
And let your mind be coupled with yonr words. 
Ti-o. What should she remember ? 
Ulyss. List. 
C'res. Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no 

more to folly. 
Ther. Roguery ! 

Dio. Nay, then,— 20 

Cres. I'll tell you what, — 
Dio. Foh, foh ! come, tell a pin : you are 

foreworn. 
Cres. In faitli, I cannot: what would you 

have me do ? 
Ther. A juggling trick, — to be secretly 

open. 
Dio. What did you swear you would be- 
stow on nie ? 
Cres. I prithee, do not hold me to mine 

oath ; 
Bid me do any tiling but that, sweet Greek. 
Dio. Good night. 
Tro. Hold, patience ! 
Ulyss. How now, Trojan ! 30 

Cres. Diomed, — 
Dio. No, no, good night : I'll be your fool 

no more. 
Tro. Thy better must. 



Cres. Hark, one word in your ear. 

Tro. O plague and madness ! 

Ulyss. You are moved, prince ; let us de- 
part, I pray you, 
Lest your displeasure should enlarge itself 
To wrathful terms : this place is dangerous ; 
The time right deadly ; 1 beseech you, go. 

Tro. Behold, I pray you ! 39 

Ulyss. Nay. good my lord, go off : 

You flow to great distraction ; come, my lord. 

Tro. I pray thee, stay. 

Uh/ss. You have not patience ; come. 

Tro. I pray you, stay ; by hell and all 
Iiell's torments, 
I will not speak a word ! 

Dio. And so, good night. 

Cres. Nay, but you part in anger. 

Ti-o. ' Doth that grieve thee ? 

wither'd truth ! 

Ulyss. Why, how now, lord ! 

Tro. By Jove, 

1 will be patient. 

C'res. Guardian !— why, Greek ! 

Dio. Foh, foil ! adieu ; you palter. 

C'res. In faith, 1 do not : come hither once 
again. 

Ulyss. You shake, my lord, at something; 
will you go ? 50 

You will break out. 

Tro. She strokes his cheek ! 

Ulyss. Come, come. 

Tro. Nay, stay ; by Jove, I will not speak 
a word : 
There is between my will and all offences 
A guard of patience : stay a little while. 

7%er. How the devil Luxury, with his fat 
rump and potato- finger, tickles these together ! 
Fry, lechery, fry ! 

Dio. But will you, then ? 

CVes. In faith, I will, la ; never trust me 
else. 

Dio. Give me some token for the surety of 
it. 60 

Cres. I'll fetch you one. [Exit. 

U/yss. You have sworn jiatience. 

Tro. Fear me not, sweet lord ; 

I will not be myself, nor have cognition 
Of what I feel': I am all patience. 

Re-enter Ckessida. 

T/ier. Now the pledge ; now, now, now I 

Cres. Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve. 

Tro. O beauty ! where is thy faith ? 

LHyss. My lord, — 

Tro. I will be patient ; outwardly I will. 

C'res. You look upon that sleeve ; behold 
it well. 
He loved me — false wench ! — Give't me 
again. , 70 

Dio. Whose was't? 

Cres. It is no matter, now I have't again. 
I will not meet with you to-morrow night : 
I i)rithee, Diomed, visit me no more. 

Ther. Now she sharpens : well said, whet- 
stone ! 

Oio. I shall have it 



776 



TROILUS AND ORES SWA. 



[Act r. 



Ores. What, this ? 

Dio. Ay, that. 

Ores. O, all you gods ! O pretty, pretty 
pledge ! 
Thy master now lies thinking in his bed 
Of tlieeand me, and sighs, and takes my glove, 
And gives memorial dainty kisses to it, 80 
As I kiss thee. Nay, do not snatch it from me; 
He that takes that dotli take my heart withal. 
Dio. I had your heart before, this follows it. 
Tro. I did swear patience. 
Ores. Yon shall not have it, Diomed ; faith, 
you shall not ; 
I'll give you sometliing else. 
Dio. I will have this : whose was it ? 
Cres. It is no matter. 

Dio. Come, tell me whose it was. 
Cres. 'Twas one's that loved me better 
than you will. 
But, now you have it, take it. 
Dio. Whose was it ? 90 

Cres. Bv all Diana's waiting-women yond, 
And by herself, I will not tell you whose. 

Dio. To-morrow will I wear it on my helm, 
And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it. 
Tro. Wert thou the devil, and worest it 
on thy horn, 
It should be challenged. 
C)'es. Well, well, 'tis done, 'tis past : and 
yet it is not ; 
I will not keep my word. 

Dio. Why, then, farewell; 

Thou never shalt mock Diomed again. 

Cres. You shall not go : one cannot speak a 
word, 100 

But it straight starts you. 
Dio. I do not like this fooling. 

T/icr. Nor I, by Pluto: but that that likes 
not you pleases me best 
Dio. What, shall I come ? the hour ? 
Cres. Ay, come : — Jove ! — do come ; — I 

shall be plagued. 
Dio. Farewell till then. 
Cres. Good night : I prithee, come. 

[Exit Diomedes. 
Troilus, farewell ! one eye yet looks on thee; 
But with my heart the oither eye doth see. 
Ah, poor our sex ! tliis fault iii us I find. 
The error of our eye directs our mind : 110 
What error leads must err; O, then conclude 
Minds sway'd by eyes are full of turjntude. 

[Exit. 
Ther. A proof of strength she could not 
publish more, 
Unless she said ' My mind is now turn'd whore.' 
Uli/ss. All's done, my lord. 
Tro. It is. 

Ulyss. Why stay we, then ? 

Tro. To make a recordation to my soul 
Of every syllable that here was spoke. 
But if I tell how these two did co-act. 
Shall I not lie in publishing a truth ? 
Sith yet there is a credence in my heart, 120 
An esjierance so obstinately strong. 
That doth invert the attest of eyes and ears. 
As if those organs had deceptious functions, 



Created only to calumniate. 
Was Cressid here ? 

Ulyss. I cannot conjure, Trojan. 

Tro. She was not, sure. 
Ulyss. Most sure she was. 

Tro. AVhy, my negation hath no taste of 

madness. 
Ulyss. Nor nune, my lord : Cressid wag 

here but now. 
Tro. Let it not be believed for womanhood! 
Think, we had mothers ; do not give advan- 
tage 130 
To stubborn critics, apt. without a theme. 
For depravation, to square the general sex 
By Cressid's rule : rather think this not Cres- 
sid. 
Ulyss. What liath she done, prince, that 

can soil our mothers ? 
Tro. Nothing at all, unless that this were 

she. 
TJier. Will he swagger himself out on 's 

own eyes ? 
Tro. This she ? no, this is Diomed's Cres 
sida : 
If beauty have a soul, this is not she ; 
If souls guide vow,«, if vows be sanctimonies, 
If sanctimony be the gods' delight, 140 

If there be rule in unity itself, 
This is not she. O madness of discourse. 
That cause sets up with and against itself ! 
Bi-fold authority ! where reason can revolt 
Without perdition, and loss assume all reason 
Without revolt : this is, and is not, Cre.ssid. 
Within my soul there doth conduce a fight 
Of this strange nature that a tiling inseparale 
Divides more widerthau the sky and earth. 
And yet the spacious breadth of tliis division 
Admits no orifex for a point as subtle 151 

As Ariachne's broken woof to enter. 
Instance, instance ! strong as Pluto's gates; 
Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven : 
Instance, O instance ! strong as heaven itself ; 
The bonds of heaven are slipp'd, dissolved. 

and loosed ; 
And with another knot, five-finger-tied. 
The fractions of her faith, orts of her love. 
The fragments, scraps, the bits and greasy 
relics 159 

Of her o'er-eaten faith, are bound to Diomed. 
Ulyss. May worthy Troilus be half attach'd 
With that which here his passion doth ex- 
press ? 
Tro. Ay, Greek ; and that shall be divulged 
well 
In characters as red as Mars his lieart 
Inflamed with Venus : never did young man 

fancy 
With so eternal and so fix'd a soul. 
Hark, Greek : as much as I do Cressid love, 
So much by weight hate I her Diomed : 
That sleeve is mine that he'll bear on his helm; 
Were it a casque composed by Vulcan's skill, 
My sword should bite it : not the dreadful 
spout 171 

Which shipraen do the hurricano call, 
Coustringed iu mass by the almighty eun. 



Scene hi.] 



TROILUS AND ORES SI DA. 



Ill 



Shall dizzy with more clamor Neptuue's ear 
In his descent tlian shall my prompted sword 
Falling on Dionied. 

Ther. He'll tickle it for his concupy. 

Tro.. O Cressid ! O false Cressid ! false, 
false, false 1 
Let all untruths stand by thy stained name, 
And tliey'll seem glorious. 

Ulijss. O, contain yourself ; 

Your passion draws ears hither. 181 

Enter jEneas. 

^Ene. I have been seeking you this hour, 
my lord : 
Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy; 
Ajax, your ,i;uard, stays to conduct you home. 

Tro. Ha\ e witli you, prince. My courteous 
lord, adieu, 
Farew^ell, revolted fair ! and, Diomed, 
Stand fast, and wear a castle on thy head ! 

Ulyss. ril brins you to the gates. 

Tro. Accept distracted tlianks. 

[Efptint 'I'roilKs, .Eneas, and Ulysses. 

Ther. Would 1 could meet that rogue Dio- 
med ! I would cronk like a raven ; [ would 
bode, I would bode. Patroclus will give me 
any thing for tlie intelligence of this whore : 
the parrot will not do more for an almond than 
he for a commodious drab. Lechery, lechery ; 
still, wars and lechery; nothing else holds 
fashion : a burning devil take them ! [Exit. 

Scene III. Troy. Before Priam's palace. 
Enter Uecior and Andromache. 

And. When was ray lord so much ungently 
temper'd. 
To stop his ears against admonishment ? 
Unarm, unarm, and do not fight to-day. 
Hect. You train me to offend you ; get you 
in : 
By all the everlasting gods, I'll go ! 
And. My dreams will, sure, prove ominous 

to the day. 
Hect. No more, I say. 

Enter Cassandra. 
Cas. Where is my brother Hector ? 

And. Here, sister ; arm'd, and bloody in 
intent. 
Consort with me in loud and dear petition, ft 
Pursue we him on knees ; for I have dream'd 
(;)f bloody turbulence, and this whole night 
Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of 
slaughter. 
Cas. O, 'tis true. 

Hect, Ho ! bid my trumpet sound ! 

Cas. No notes of sally, for the heavens, 

sweet brother. 
Hect. Be gone, I say: the gods have lieard 

me swear. 
Cas. The gods are deaf to hot and peevish 
vows : 
They are polluted offerings, more abhorr'd 
Than sixitted livers in the sacrifice. 
And. O, be persuaded I do not count it 
holjr 



To hurt by being just : it is as lawful, 20 

For we would give much, to use violent thefts, 
And rob in the behalf of charity. 

Cas. It is the purpose that makes strong 
the vow ; 
But vows to every purpose must not hold : 
Unarm, sweet Hector. 

Hect. Hold you still, I say; 

Mine honor keeps the weather of my fate : 
Life every man holds dear; but the brave man 
Holds honor far more precious-dear than life. 

Enter Troilus. 

How now, young man ! mean'st thou to fight 
to-day ? 
And. Cassandra, call my father to persuade. 
YExit Cassandra. 30 
Hect. No, faith, young Troilus ; doff thy 
harness, youth ; 
I am to-day i' the vein of chivalry : 
Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong 
And tenijit not yet the brushes of the war. 
Unarm thee, go, and doubt thou not, brave 

hoy, 
I'll stand to-day for thee and me and Troy. 
Tro. Brother, you have a vice of mercy in 
you, 
Wliich better fits a lion than a man. 
Hect. What vice is that, good Troilus? 

chide me for it. 
Tro. When many times the captive Grecian 
falls, 40 

Even in the fan and wuid of your fair sw'ord, 
You bid them rise, and live. 
Hect. O, 'tis fair play. 
Tro. Fool's play, by heaven. Hector. 

Hect. How now ! how now ! 
Tro. For the love of all the gods, 

Let's leave the hermit pity with our mothers. 
And when we have our armors buckled on, 
The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords, 
Spur tliem to ruthful work, rein them from 
ruth. 
Hect. Fie, savage, fie ! 
Tro. Hector, then 'tis wars. 

Hect. Troilus, I would not have you fight 
to-day. 50 

Tro. Wlio should withhold me ? 
Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars 
Beckoning with fiery truncheon my retire ; 
Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees, 
Tlieir eyes o'ergalled with recourse of tears ; 
Nor you, my brother, with your true sword 

drawn, 
Opiiosed to hinder me, should stop my way, 
But bj' my ruin. 

Re-enter Cassandra, icith Priam. 

Cas. Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him 
fast : 
He is thy crutch ; now if thou lose thy stay. 
Thou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee, 61 
Fall all ttjgether. 

Pri. Come, Hector, come, go back 

Thy wife hath dream'd ; thy mother hath had 
visions \ 



778 



TROILUS AND ORES SID A. 



[Act 



Cassandra doth foresee ; and I myself 
Am like a prophet suddenly enrapt 
To tell thee tliat this day is omiuous : 
T'-erefore, come back. 

Hect. iEneas is a-field ; 

And I do stand engaged to many Greeks, 
Even in the faith of valor, to appear 
This morning to them. 
Pri. Ay, but thou shalt not go. 

Hect. I must not break my faith. 71 

Voii know me dutiful : therefore, dear .sir. 
Let me not shauie respect ; but give me leave 
To take that course by your consent and voice. 
Which you do here forbid me, royal Priam. 
Cas. Priam, yield not to him ! 
And. Do not, dear father. 

Hect. Andromache, I pm offended with you : 
Upon the love you bear me, get you in. 

[^Exit Andromache. 
Tro. This foolisli, dreaming, superstitious 
girl 
Makes all these bodenicnts. 

Oas. O, farewell, dear Hector ! 

Look, how thou dicst ! look, how thy eye turns 
pale ! 81 

Look, how thy wounds do bleed at many vents! 
Hark, how Troy roars^ how Hecuba cries out! 
How poor Andromache shrills her dolors 

forth ! 
Behold, distraction, frenzy and amazement, 
Like witless antics, one another meet, 
And all cry. Hector ! Hector's dead ! Hec- 
tor ! 
Tro. Away ! awav ! 

Cas. Farewell : yet, soft ! Hector, I take 
my leave : 
Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive. 

[Exit. 
Hect. You are amazed, ray liege, at her ex- 
claim : 91 
Go in and cheer the town : we'll forth and 

fight. 
Do deeds worth praise and tell you them at 
night. 
Pri. Farewell : the gods with safety stand 
about thee ! 
[Exeunt severally Priam and Hector. Alarums. 
Tro. They are at it, hark ! Proud Diomed, 
believe, 
I come to lose my arm, or win my sleeve. 

Enter Pandarus. 

Pan. Do you hear, my lord ? do you hear? 

Tro. What now ? 

Pan. Here's a letter come from yond poor 
girl. 

Tro. Let me read. 10(? 

Pan. A whoreson tisick, a whoreson rascally 
tisick so troubles me, and the foolish fortune of 
this girl; and what one thing,what another, tha^ 
I shall leave you one o' these days : and I have a 
rheum in mine eyes too, and such an ache in my 
bones that, unless a man were cursed, I cannot 
tell what to think on 't. AVhat ,says she there? 

Tro. Words, words, mere words, no matter 
icom the heart : 



The effect doth operate another way. 10& 

[Tearing the letter. 
Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change to- 
gether. 
My love with words and errors still she feeds; 
But edifies another with her deeds. 

[Exeunt severally 

Scene IV. Plains hetween Troy and the Gre- 
cian camp. 

Alarums : excursions. Enter Theesites. 

Ther. Now they are clapper-clawing one 
anotlier ; I'll go look on. That dissembling 
abominable varlet, Diomed, has got that same 
scurvy doting foolish young knave's sleeve of 
Troy there in his helm : I would fain see them 
meet ; that that same young Trojan ass, that 
loves the whore there, might send that Greek- 
ish whore-masterly villain, with the sleeve, 
back to the dissembling luxurious drab, of a 
sleeveless errand. O' tlie t'other side, the 
policy of those crafty swearing rascals, tliat 
stale old mouse-eaten dry cheese, Nestor, and 
that sanie dog-fox, Ulysses, is not proved 
worthy a blackberry : they set me up, in 
policy, that mongrel cur, Ajax, again,st that 
dog of as bad a kind, Achilles : and now i,s 
the cur Ajax prouder than the cur Achilles, 
and will not arm to-day ; whereupon the Gre- 
cians begin to proclaim barbarism, and policy 
grows into an ill opinion. Soft ! here comes 
sleeve, and t'other. 

Enter Diomedes, Troilu.s folloivim/. 

Tro. Fly not ; for shouldst thou take the 
river Styx, 20 

I would swim after. 

Bio. Thou dost miscall retire : 

I do not fly, but advantageous care 
Withdrew me from the odds of multitude : 
Have at thee ! 

Ther. Hold thy whore, Grecian ! — now for 
thy whore, Trojan ! — now the sleeve, now the 
sleeve ! 

[Exeunt Troilus and Diotnedes, fighting. 
Enter Hector. 

Hect. What art thou, Greek ? art thou for 
Hector's match ? 
Art thou of blood and honor ? 

Ther. No, no, I am a rascal ; a scurvy rail, 
ing knave : a very filthy rogue. 31 

Hect. I do believe thee : live. [Exit. 

Ther. God-a-mercy, that thou wilt believe 
me ; but a |)lague break thy neck for frighting 
me ! What's become of the wenching rogues ? 
I think they have swallowed one another : I 
would laugh at that miracle : yet, in a sort, 
lechery eats itself. I'll seek them. [Exit. 

Scene V Another i)arl of the plains. 

Enter Diomedes and a Servant. 

Dio. Go, go, my servant, take thou T/oilug 
horse : 
Present the fair steed to my lady Cressid : 



Scene vii.] 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



779 



Fellow, comipeud ray service to her beauty ; 
Tell her I have chastised the amorous Trojau, 
Aud am her knight by proof. 
Serv. I go, my lord. [Exit. 

Enter Agamemnon. 

Af/am. Renew, renew ! The fierce Poly- 
damas 
Hath beat down Menon : bastard Margarelon 
Ilath Doreus prisoner, 

And stands colossus-wise, waving his beam, 
Upon the pashed corses of the kings 10 

Epistrophus and Cedius : Polyxenes is slain, 
Amphimachus and Thoas deadly hurt, 
Patroclus ta'en or slain, and Palamedes 
Sore hurt and braised: the dreadful Sagittary 
Appals our numbers : haste we, Diomed, 
To reinforcement, or we perish all. 

Enter Nestor. 

Xe/tL Go, bear Patroclus' body to Achilles; 
And bid the snail-paced Ajax arm for shame. 
There is a thousand Hectors iu tlie field : 
Now here he fights on Galathe liis liorse, 20 
And there lacks work ; anon he's there afoot, 
And there they fly or die, like scaled sculls 
IJcfore the belching whale ; then is he yonder, 
And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for liis edge, 
Vail down before him, like the mower's swath : 
Here, there, and every where, he leaves and 

takes. 
Dexterity so obeying appetite 
That what he will he does, and does so much 
That proof is call'd impossibility 

Enter Uly.sses. 

Ulyss. 0, courage, courage, princes ! great 
Achilles 30 

Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing ven- 
geance : 
Patroclus' wounds have roused his drowsy 

blood. 
Together with his mangled Myrmidons, 
That noseless, haudless, hack'd aud chijtij'd, 

come to him. 
Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend 
And foams at mouth, and he isarm'd and at it, 
Roaiing for Troilus, who hath done to-day 
Mad and fantastic execution, 
Engaging and redeeming of himself 
With such a careless force and forceless care 
.\s if that luck, in very spite of cunning, 41 
Bade him win all. 

Enter Ajax. 

Ajax. Troilus ! thou coward Troilus ! [Exit. 
Dio. Ay, there, there. 

Nest. So, so, we draw together. 

Enter Achilles. 

Achil. Where is this Hector ? 

Come, come, thou boy-queller, show thy face ; 

Know what it is to meet Achilles angry : 

Hector ! where's Hector ? I will none but 

Hector. lExeunt. 



Scene VI. Anotlier }Kirt of the plains. 
Enter Ajax. 

Ajax. Troilus, thou coward Troilus, show 

thy head ! 

Enter Diomedes. 
Dio. Troilus, I say ! where's Troilus V 
Ajax. What wouldst thou ? 

Dio. I would correct liim. 
Ajax. Were I the general, thou shouldst 

have my office 
Ere that correction. Troilus, 1 say ! what, 

Troilus ! 

Enter Tkoilus. 
Tro. O traitor Diomed ! turn thy false face, 

thou traitor, 
And pay tliy life thou owest me for my horse I 
Dio. Ha, art thou there ? 
Ajax. I'll fight with him alone : stand, 

Diomed. 'J 

Dio. He is my prize ; I will not look upon. 
Tro. Come, both you cogging (ireeks ; 

have at you botli ! [ExeiDit, Jiyhtiny. 

Enter Hectok. 

llect. Yea, Troilus ? O, well fought, my 
youngest brother ! 

Enter Achilles. 

Achil. Now do I see thee, ha ! liave at thee, 
Hector ! 

Jlect. Pause, if thou wilt. 

Achil. 1 do disdain thy courtesy, proud 
Trojan : 
Be happy tliat my arms are out of use : 
My rest and negligence befriends tliee now, 
Hut thou anon shalt hear of me again ; 
Till when, go seek thy fortune. [Exit. 

Jlect. Fare thee well : 1!) 

I would have been much more a fresher man. 
Had I expected thee. How now, my brother ! 

Re-enter Troilus. 

T7-0. Ajax hath ta'en .^Eneas : shall it be ? 
No, by the flame of yonder glorious hea\ en, 
He shall not carry him : I'll be ta'en too. 
Or bring him off : fate, hear me what I say ' 
I reck not though 1 end my life to-day. [Exit. 

Enter one in sumptuous armor. 

Hect. Stand, stand, thou Greek ; thou art 
a goodly mark : 
No ? wilt thou not ? I like thy armor well ; 
I'll frush it and unlock the rivets all. 
But I'll be master of it : wilt thou not, beast, 
abide ? 3(' 

Why, then fly on, I'll hunt thee for thy hide. 

[Exeunt- 

Scene "VII. Another part of the plains. 

Enter Achilles, with Myrmidons. 

Achil Come here about me, you my Myr- 
midons ; 



730 



TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. 



[Act v. 



Mark what I say. Attend me where I wheel : 
Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in 

breath : 
And when I have the bloody Hector found, 
Empale hira with your weapons round about ; 
In fellest manner execute your aims. 
Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye : 
It is decreed Hector the great must die. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter Menklaus and Varis, fighting : then 
Thersites. 
T/ier. The cuckold and the cuckold-maker 
are at it. Now, bull ! now, dog ! 'Loo, Paris, 
'loo ! now my double-heuned sparrow ! 'loo, 
Paris, 'loo ! The bull has the game : ware 
horns, ho ! [Exeunt Paris and Menelaus. 

Enter Margarelon. 

Mar. Turn, slave, and fight. 

Ther. What art thou ? 

Mar. A bastard son of Priam's. 

Ther. 1 am a bastard too ; I love bastards : 
T am a bastard begot, bastard instructed, bas- 
tard in mind, bastard iu valor, in every thing 
illegitimate. One bear will not bite another, 
and wherefore should one bastard ? Take 
heed, the quarrel's most ominous to us : if the 
Bon of a whore fight for a whore, he tempts 
judgment : farewell, bastard. [Exit. 

Mar. The devil take thee, coward ! [E-tit. 

Scene VITI. Another part of the plains. 

Enter Hector 

Hect. Most putrefied core, so fair without, 
Thy goodly armor thus hath cost thy life. 
NoV is my day's work done ; I'll take good 

breath : 
Rest, sword ; thou hast thy fill of blood and 
death. 

[Puts off his helmet and hangs his shield 
behind him. 

Enter Achilles and Myrmidons. 

Achil. Look, Hector, how the sun begins to 
set ; 
How ugly night comes breathing at his heels : 
Even with the vail and darking of the sun, 
To close the day ui), Hector's life is done. 
Hect. I am unarm'd ; forego this vantage, 

Greek. 
Achil. Strike, fellows, strike ; this is the 
man I seek. [Hector falls. 10 

So, Ilion, fall thou next ! now, Troy, sink 

down ! 
Here lies thy lieart, thy sinews, and thy bone. 
On Myrmidons, and cry you all amain, 
' Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain. ' 

[A retreat soundrd. 
Hark ! a retire upon our Grecian part. 
Myr. The Trojan trumpets sound the like, 

my lord. 
Achil. The dragon wing of night o'er- 
spreads the earth, 
And, stickler-like, the armies separates. 



My half-supp'd sword, that frankly would 

liave fed. 
Pleased with this dainty bait, thus goes to bed. 
[.'Sheathes his sword. 
Come, tie his body to my horse's tail ; 
Along the field I will the Trojan trail. [Exeunt. 

Scene IX Another part of the plains. 

Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Menelaus, Nes- 
tor, DiOMEDES, and others, marching. 
iShonts loithin. 

Again. Hark ! hark ! ivhat shout is that ? 
Nest. Peace, drums ! 
[Within] Achilles ! Achilles ! Hector's slain ! 
Achilles. 
Did. The bruit is. Hector's slain, and hj 

Achilles. 
Ajax. If it be so, yet bragless let it be ; 
Great Hector was a man as good as he. 
Agam. March patiently along : let one be 
sent 
To pr-ay Achilles see us at our tent. 
It in liis death the gods liave us befriended, 9 
Great Troy is ours, and our sliarp wars are 
ended. [Exeunt, marching. 

Scene X. Another part <f the plain.<. 
Enter JEskah. ami Trojans 

^Ene. Stand, ho ! vet are we masters of the 

field : 
Never go home ; liere starve we out the night. 
Enter Troilus. 
Tro. Hector is slain. 

All. Hector ! the gods forbid .' 

Tro. He's dead ; and at the murderer's 

horse's tail. 
In beastiv sort, dragg'd through tlie shameful 

field. 
Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with 

speed ! 
Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at 

Troy ! 
I say, at once let your brief plagues be mercy, 
And linger not our sure destructions on ! 
..Ene. My lord, you do discomfort all the 

host. ■ IC 

Tro. You understand me not that tell me so ; 
I do not speak of flight, of fear, of death. 
But dare all imminence that gods and men 
Address their dangers in. Hector is gone : 
AVho shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba ? 
Let him that will a screech-owl aye be call'd, 
Go in to Troy, and say there, Hector's dead : 
There is a word will Priam turn to stone ; 
Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives, 
Cold statues of the youth, and, in a word, 20 
Scare Troy out of itself. But, march away : 
Hector is dead ; there is no more to say. 
Stay yet. You vile abominable tents. 
Thus proudly pight upon our Plirygian plains, 
I-et Titan rise as early as he dare, 
I'll through and through you ! and, thou great- 
sized coward, 
^o space of earth shall sunder our two hates ; 



4 



Scene x.] 



TBOTLU^ AND CRESSTDA. 



781 



I'll haunt thee like a wicked coiiscienee still, 
That iiioukieth goblins swift as frenzy's 

tlionj^hts. 
Strike a free march to Troy ! with comfort go : 
Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe. 'M 
[Ji.ft'uiU ^Kneun ami Trojans. 

As Tkoilus is f/ohi.(/ out, enter, from the other 
side, Pandarus. 

Pan. But hear you, hear you I 

Tro. Hence, broker-lackey ! ignomy and 
shame 
Pursue thv life, and live ave with thv name ! 

[Exit. 

Pan. A goodly medicine for my acliing 
bones! O world! world! world! thus is tlie 
poor agent despised ! () traitors and bawds, 
how earnestly are you set a-work, and how ill 
requited I why should our endeavor be so 
loved and the performance so loathed ? what 



verse for it ? what instance for it ? T,et me 
see : 41 

Full merrily the liumble-bee doth sing. 
Till he hath lost his honey and his sting ; 
And being once subdued in armed tail. 
Sweet iKJuey and sweet notes together fail. 
(Jood traders in the Hesh, set this in your 

painted cloths. 
As many as be here of pander's liall, 
Your eyes, half out, weep out at Pandar's fall ; 
Or if you cannot wee|), yet give some groans, 
Though not for lue, yet for youi' aching bones. 
Brethren and sisters of the hold-door trade, 
Some two months hence my will shall here be 

made : ' 

It should be now, but that my fear is this. 
Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss : 
Till tlien I'll sweat and seek about for eases, 
And at that time bequeathe you my diseases. 

[Exit 



OTHELLO. 

(written about 1604.) 



INTRODUCTION. 

Othello .s tne only play which appeared in quarto (in 1G22) in the interval between Shakespeare's 
death and the publication of tlie lust folio. We liave uo meaus, except by internal evidence, of 
ascertaining the date at which the play was written. Upon the strength of a supposed allusion to 
tUe aruKjrial bearings of the new order of Uaronets, instituted in Kill (Act Jll., Sc. iv. L. 4G-iT), the 
jplay has been referred to a year not earlier than Kill ; but the metrical tests tonliim the impression 
prodiiceil by the general character and spirit of the tragedy, that it cannot belong to the same perioil 
as The 'IVnipfSt, (.'ymlieluu-, and The Wintcr'ti TaU-. U is evidently one of the group of tragedies of 
passion which includes Macbctk and Lear. The year 1004 has been accepted by several critics as a 
not improbable date for O^/te^io. The original of the story is found in Cinthios //ecrt/ow/,//;/, but it 
lias been in a marvellous raanner elevated and re-created by Shakespeare. Coleridge lias justly 
Bald that the agonized doubt which lays hold of the Moor is not the jealousy of a man of naiurally 
jealous temper, and he contrasts Othello with Leoutes in The Winter's yVi/e, and Leonatiis in Ci/w/je- 
line. A mean watchfulness or prying suspicion is the last thing that Othello c-ouhl be guilty of', lie 
is of a free and noble nature, naturally trustful, with a kind of grand innocence, retaining some of 
his barbaric simpleness of soul in midst of the subtle and a-stute politicians of Venice. He is great 
in simple heroic action, but unverseu in the compltJX affairs of life, and a stranger to the malignant 
deceits of the debased Italian character. Nothing is mo e chivalrous, more romantic, than ihe love 
of (Jlhello and Desdemona. The beautiful Italian girl is fascinated by the real strength and gran- 
deur, and the tender protectiveness of the Moor, lie is charmed by the sweetness, the sympathy, 
the gentle disposition, the gracious womanliness of Desdemona. But neither quite rightly knows 
the othe'- ; thsre is none of lli.at perfect equality and perfect knowleilge between thein which unite 
BO tlawle.ssly Brutus and Portia. There is no character in Shakespe.-ire's plays so full of serpentine 
power and serpentine poi-soii as Tago. He is envious of Cassio, and suspects that the Moor may have 
wronged his honor ; but his malignancy is out of all i>roportion to even its alleged motives. Oassio, 
notvyithstanding his moral weaknesses, is a chivalrous nature, possessed by enthnsiastic admiration 
of his great general and the beautiful lady who is his wife. But lago can see neither liuinaii virtue 
nor greatness. All things to him are common and nndean, .ind he is content that they should be 
BO. He is not the sly, sneaking, and too manifest villain of some of the actors of his part. He is 
"honest lago," and passes for a rough yet shrewd critic of life, who is himself frank and candid. To 
ensnare the nobly guileless Othello was, therefore, no impossible task. Shakespeare does not 
allow lago to triumph; his end is wretched as his life has been. And Othello, restored to love 
througli such tragic calamity, «lies once more reunited to Ids wife, and loyal, in spite of all his 
wrongs, to the city of his adoption. It is he who has sinned, and not she who was dearer to him than 
liimaelf, and of his own wrongs and griefa ha can make a sudden end. 



DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 



Duke of Venice. 

BitABANTio, senator. 

Other Senators. 

!iK.\TiANo, brother to Brabantio. 

).'>Dovic<), kinsman to Brabautio. 

Uthkllu, a noble Moor in the .service of the 
Venetian state. 

Cassio, his lientenant. 

Iauo, Ills ancient. 

Eddkrkjo, a Venetian gentleman. 

MoNTANO. Othello's predeces.sor in the gov- 
ernment of Cyprus. 
782 



Clown, servant to Othello. 

Desdemona, daughter to Brabautio and wife 

to Otliello. 
Emilia, wife to lago. 
BiANCA, mistress to Cassio. 

Sailor, Messenger, Herald, Officers, Oentle- 
men. Musicians, and Attendants. 

Sf'ENE : Venice : a Sea-port in Cyprus. 



f5cENE I.] 



OTHELLO. 



783 



ACT I. 

Scene I. Venivv. A street. 
Enter Roderigo and Iago. 

Rod. Tiush ! never tell me ; I take it much 

unkindly 
Tliat tluiu, l.ago, who hast had my purse 
As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of 

this. 
la<jo. 'Sblood, but you will not hear me : 
If ever I did dream of such a matter, 
Abhor me. 

Rod. Thou told'st nie thou didst hold him 

in thy hate. 
JiKjo. Despise me, if I do not. Three great 

ones of the city, 
In personal suit to nuike me his lieutenant, 
Ott-capp'd to him : and, by tlie faith of man, 
1 know my price, I am worth no worse a 

place : 11 

I5ut he, as lovmghis own pride and ])urposes, 
I'Aadcs them, with a bombast circumstance 
llonibly stiiff'd with epithets of war ; 
And, in conclusion, 
Nonsuits my mediators ; for, ' Certes,' says 

lie, 
' I have already chose my officer.' 
Vnd what was he ? 
Forsooth, a great arithmetician, 
■.)no Michael Cassio, a Florentine, 20 

t A fellow almost damn'd in a fair wife ; 
That never set a squadron in the field, 
Nor the division of a battle knows 
More tlian a spinster ; unless the booki.sh 

theoric, 
Wherein the toged consuls can jiropose 
As masterly as he : mere prattle, without 

practice. 
Is all liis soldiership. But he, sir, had the 

election: 
And I, of whom liis eyes had seen the proof 
At Rhodes, at Cyprus and on other grounds 
Christian and heathen, must be be-lee'd and 

calm'd ;10 

By debitor and creditor ; this counter-caster, 
fie, in good time, must his lieutenant be, 
And I — God bless the mark !--his Moorship's 

ancient. 
Ii<id. By heaven, I rather would have been 

his hangman. 
IiKjo. Why, there's no remedy ; 'tis the 

curse of service, 
Preferment goes by letter and affection. 
And not liy old gradation, Avhere each second 
Stood lieir to the first. Now, sir, be judge 

yourself. 
Whether I in aiij' just term am affined 
To love the Moor. 
Rod. I would not follow him then. 40 

layo. 0, sir, content you ; 
{ follow him to serve my turn upon him : 
We cannot all be masters, nor all masters 
Oannot be truly follow'd. You shall mark 
Many .a duteous and knee-crooking knave, 
Tlwt, doting on his own obsequious bondage, 



Wears out his time, much like his master's 
ass, 

For nought but provender, and when he's 
old, cashier d : 

Whip me such honest knaves. Others there 
are 

Who, trimm'd in forms and visages of duty. 

Keep yet their hearts attending on them- 
selves, 51 

And, throwing but shows of service on their 
lords, 

Do well thrive by them and when they have 
lined their coats 

Do themselves homage : these fellows have 
some soul ; 

And such a one do I profess myself. For^ sir, 

It is as sure as you are Roderigo, 

Were 1 the Moor, I would not be Iago : 

In following him, I follow but myself ; 

Heaven is my judge, not 1 for love and duty, 

But seeming so, for my peculiar end : (iO 

For when my outward action doth demon- 
strate 

The native act and figure of my heart 

In compliment extern, 'tis not long after 

But 1 will wear my heart ujion my sh'eve 

F'or daws to peck at : I am not wh.-it I am. 
Rod. What a full fortune does the thick- 
lips owe. 

If he can carry't thus ! 
Icujo. Call up her father. 

Rouse liim : make after him, poison his de- 
light, 

Troclaim him in the streets ; incense her kins- 
men. 

And, though he in a fertile climate dwell, 70 

riague him with flies : though that his joy 
be joy. 

Yet throw such changes of vexation on't, 

As it may lose some color. 
Rod. Here is her fatlier's house ; I'll call 

aloud. 
layo. Do, with like timorous accent and 
dire yell 

As when, by night and negligence, the fire 

Is spied in populous cities. 
Rod. What, ho, Brabantio ! Signior Bra- 

bantio, ho ! 
Id'io^ Awake ! what, ho, Brabantio 1 
thieves ! thieves ! thieves ! 

Look to your house, your daughter and your 
bags ! 80 

Thieves ! thieves ! 

Brabantio appears above, at a windoio. 

Bra, What is the reason of this terrible 
summons ? 
W^hat is the matter there ? 
Rod. Signior, is all your family within ? 
Iago. Are your doors lock'd ? 
Bra. Why, wherefore ask you this f 

Iago. 'Zounds, sir, you're robb'd ; foi 
shame, put on your gown ; 
Y'our heart is burst, you have lost half youi 

soul ; 
Even now, now, very now, an old black ram 



784 



OTHELLO. 



[Act :. 



Is tupping your white ewe. Arise, arise ; 
Awake the snorting citizens with the bell, 90 
Or else the devil will made a grandsire of 

you: 
Arise, 1 say. 

Bra. What, have you lost your wits ? 

Rod. Most reverend siguior, do you know 
my voice ? 

Bra. Not I : what are you ? 

Rod. My name is Roderigo. 

Bra. The worser welcome : 

I have charged thee not to haunt about my 

doors : 
In honest plainness thou hast heard me say 
My daughter is not for thee ; and now, in 

madness, 
Being full of supper and distempering 

draughts. 
Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come 100 
To start my quiet. 

Rod. Sir, sir, sir, — 

Bra. But thou must needs be sure 

My spirit and my place have in them power 
To make this bitter to thee. 

Rod. Patience, good sir. 

Bra. What tell'st thou me of robbing ? 
this is Venice ; 
My house is not a grange. 

Rod. Most grave Brabantio, 

In simple and pure soul I come to you. 

lago. 'Zounds, sir, you are one of those 
that will not serve God, if the devil bid you. 
Because we come to do you service and you 
think we are ruffians, you'll have your daugh- 
ter covered with a Barbary horse ; you'll 
have your nephews neigli to you ; you'll have 
coursers for cousins and gennets for germans. 

Bra. What profane wretch art thou ? 

lago. I am one, sir, that comes ■ to tell j'ou 
your daughter and the Moor are now making 
tlie beast with two backs. 

Bra. Thou art a villain. 

lago. You are — a senator. 

Bra. This thou shalt answer ; I know thee, 
Roderigo. 120 

Rod. Sir, I will answer any thing. But, I 
beseech you. 
If 't be your pleasure and most wise consent, 
As partly I find it is, that your fair daughter. 
At this odd-even and dull watch o' the night, 
Transported, with no worse nor better guard 
But with a knave of common hire, a gon- 
dolier. 
To the gross clasps of a lascivious Moor, — 
If this be known to you and your allowance. 
We then have done you bold and saucy 

wrongs ; 
But if you know not this, my manners tell 
me 130 

We have your wrong rebuke. Do not believe 
That, from the sense of all civility, 
I thus would play and trifle with your rever- 
ence : 
Your daughter, if you have not given her 

leave, 
I say agaixi, hath made a gross revolt * 



Tying her duty, beauty, wit and fortunes 
In an extravagant and wheeling stranger 
Of here and every where. Straight satisfy 

yourself ; 
If she be in her chamber or your house, 
Let loose on me the justice of the state 140 
For thus deluding you. 

Bra. Strike on the tinder, ho t 

Give me a taper ! call up all my people ! 
This accident is not unlike my dream : 
Belief of it oppresses me already. 
Light, I say ! light '. ' [Exit above, 

lago. Farewell ; for I must leave you: 

It seems not meet, nor wholesome to my 

place. 
To be produced — as, if I stay, I shall — 
Against the Moor : for, I do know, the state. 
However this may gall him with some check. 
Cannot with safety cast him, for he's em- 

bark'd 150 

With such loud reason to the Cyin-us wars. 
Which even now stand in act, that, for their 

souls, 
Auotherof his fathom they have none. 
To lead their business : in which regard. 
Though I do hate him as I do hell-pains, 
Yet, for necessity of present life, 
I must show out a flag aud sign of love. 
Which is indeed but sign. That you shall 

surely find him. 
Lead to the Sagittary the raised search ; 
And there will I be with him. So, farewell. 

[Exit. 160 

Enter, beloio, Brabantio, and Servants with 
torches. 

Bra. It is too true an evil : gone she is ; 

And what's to come of my despised time 

Is nought but bitterness. Now, Roderigo, 

Where didst thou see her ? O unhappy girl ! 

With the Moor, say'st thou ? Who would be 
a father ! » 

How ilidst thou know 'twas she ? 0, she de- 
ceives me 

Past thought ! What said she to you 7 Get 
more tapers : 

Raise all my kindred. Are they married, 
think you ? 
Rod. Truly, I think they are. 
Bra. O heaven ! How got she out ? O 
treason of the blood ! 170 

Fathers, from hence trust not your daugh- 
ters' minds 

By what you see them act. Is there not 
charms 

By which the property of youth and maidhood 

May be abused ? llave you not read, Rod- 
erigo, 

Of some such thing ? 
Rod. Yes, sir, I have indeed. 

Bi'a. Call up my brother. O, would you 
had had her I 

Some one way, some another. Do you know 

Where we may api^rehend her and the Moor ? 
Rod. I think I can discover him, if you 
please 



Scene n.] 



OTHELLO. 



786 



To get good guard and go along with nie. 180 
lira. Prav joii, lead on. At every house 
I'll cafi ; 
I may coumiand at most. Get weapons, ho ! 
And raise some special offieers of night. 
Oh, good Koderigo : I'll deserve your pains. 

\_Exeunt. 

Scene 11. Another street. 

Enter Othello, Iago, and Attendants loith 

torches. 
Iago. Though in the trade of war I have 
slain men, 
Yet do I hold it verj' stuff o' the conscience 
To do no contrived murder : I lack iniquity 
Sometimes to do nie service ; nine or ten 

times 
I had thought to have yerk'd him here under 
ihe ribs. 
0th. 'Tis better as it is. 
Iago. Nay, but he i)rated, 

And spoke such scurvy and provoking terms 
Against your honor 
That, with the little godliness I have, 
I did full hard forbear hira. But, I pray you, 
sir, 10 

Are you fast married ? Be assured of this, 
That the magnifico is mucli beloved. 
And hath in his effect a voice potential 
As double as the duke's : he will divorce you ; 
Or put upon you what restraint and griev- 
ance 
The law, with all his might to enforce it on, 
Will give him cable. 

0th. Let him do his spite : 

My services which I have done the signiory 
Shall out-tongue his complaints. 'Tis yet to 
know, — 19 

Which, when I know that boasting is an honor, 
I shall promulgate — I fetch my life and being 
From men of royal siege, and my demerits 
May speak unbonneted to as proud a fortune 
As this that I have reach'd : for know, Iago, 
But that I love the gentle Desdemona, 
I would not my unhoused free condition 
Put into circumscription and confine 
For the sea's worth. But, look ! what lights 
come yond ? 
Iago. Those are the raised father and his 
friends : 
You were best go in. 

0th. Not I : I must be found : 30 

My parts, my title and my perfect soul 
Shall manifest me rightly. Is it they ? 

lac/o. R,v Janus, I think no. 
Enter Cassio, and certain Officers icith torches. 
0th. The servants of the duke, and my 
lieutenant. 
Tlie goodness of the night upon you, friends ! 
What is the news ? 

Cas. The duke does greet you, general, 

And he requires your haste-post-haste appear- 
ance, 
Even on the instant. 
0th. What is the matter, think you ? 



Cas. Something from Cyprus, as I may 
divine : 
It is a business of some heat : the galleys 4ft 
Have sent a dozen sequent messengers 
This very night at one another's heels, 
And many of the consuls, raised and met, 
Are at the duke's already : you have been 

liotly call'd for ; 
When, being not at your lodging to be found, 
The senate hath sent about three several 

quests 
To search you out. 

0th. 'Tis well I am found by you. 

I will but spend a word here in the house, 
And go with you. [Exit. 

Cas. Ancient, what makes he here ? 

layo. 'Faith, he to-night hath boarded a 
land carack : 6G 

If it prove lawful prize, he's made for ever. 

Cas. I do not understand. 

Iago. He's married. 

Cas, To who ? 

Re-enter Othello. 
Iago. Mary, to — Come, captain, will you 

go? 
0th. Have with you. 

Cas. Here comes another troop to seek for 

j^ou. 
Iago. It is Brabantio. General, be advised ; 
He comes to bad intent. 

Enter Brabantio, Roderigo, and Officei-s 
loith torches and iveapons. 

0th. Holla ! stand there ! 

Bod. Siguier, it is the Moor. 
Bi-a. Down with him, thief ! 

[They draw on both sides. 
Iago. You, Roderigo ! come, sir, I am for 

you. 
0th. Keep up your bright swords, for the 
dew will rust them. 
Good siguior, you shall more command with 
years 60 

Thau with your weapons. 
Bra. Othou foul thief, where liast thou 
stow'd my daughter ? 
Damn'd as thou art, thou hast enchanted her; 
For I'll refer me to all things of sense, 
If she in chains of magic were not bound, 
Whether a maid so tender, fair and happy, 
So opposite to marriage that she shunu'd 
The wealthy curled darlings of our nation, 
Would ever have, to incur a general mock. 
Run from her guardage to the sooty bosom 70 
Of such a thing as thou, to fear, not to delight 
Judge me the world, if 'tis not gross in sense 
That thou hast practised on her with foul 

charms. 
Abused her delicate youth with drugs oi 

minerals 
That weaken motion : I'll have 't disputed on, 
'Tis probable and yf-lnable to thinking. 
I thereiore aiiprehend and do attach thee 
For an abuser of the world, a practiser 
Of arts inhibited and out of warrant 
fiO 



786 



OTHELLO. 



[Ac/ I 



Lay hold upon him : if he do resist, 80 

Subdue him at his peril. 

Olh. Hold your hands, 

Both you of my inclining, aud the rest : 
Were it my cue to figlit, I should have known 

it 
Without a prompter. Wliere will yon that I 

go 
To answer this your charge ? 

Bra. To prison, till fit time 

Of law and course of direct session 
Call thee to answer. 

0th. What if I do obey ? 

How may the duke he therewith satisfied, 
Whose messengers are here about my side. 
Upon some present business of the state '.'0 
To bring me to him ? 

First Off. 'Tis true, most worthy signior ; 
The duke's in council, and your noble self, 
I am sure, is sent for. 

Bra. How ! the duke in council ! 

In this time of the night I Bring him away : 
Mine's not an idle cause : the duke himself. 
Or any of my brothers of the state, 
Cannot but feel this wrong as 'twere their 

own ; 
For if such actions may have passage free, 
Bond-slaves and pagans shall our statesmen 

be. \_Exeunt. 

Scene HI. A council-chamber 

17ie Duke and Senators sitting at a table ; 

Officers attendinf/. 
DuJce. There is uo composition in these 
news 
That gives them credit. 

First Sen. Indeed, they are disproportion^ ; 
My letters say a hundred aud seven galleys. 
Duke. Aud mine, a hundred aud forty. 
Sec. Sen. And mine, two hundred : 

But though they jump not on a just account, — 
As in tliese cases, where the aim reports, 
'Tis oft with difference — yet do they all con- 
firm 
A Turkish fleet, aud bearing up to Cyprus. 
Duke. Nay, it is possible enough to judg- 
ment ; 
I do not so secure me in the error, 10 

But the main article I do approve 
' lu fearful sense. 

Sailor. [Wiihinl What, hoi what, ho! 

what, ho I 
First Off. A messenger from the galleys. 

Enter a Sailor. 
Dnke. Now, what's the business ? 

Sail. The Turkish preparation makes for 
Rhodes ; 
So was I bid report here to the state 
By Signior Angelo. 
Duke. How say yon by this change ? 
First Sen. This cannot be, 

By no assay of reason : 'tis a pageant. 
To keep us in false gaze. When we consider 
The importaacy of Cyprus to tlie Turk, 20 



And let ourselves again but understand, 
Tliatas it more concerns the Turk than Khodee. 
So may he with more facile question bear it, 
For that it stands uot in such warlike brace. 
But altogether lacks the abilities 
That Rhodes is dress'd in: if we make thought 

of this. 
We must not think the Turk is so unskilful 
To leave that latest wliich concerns him first. 
Neglecting an attempt of ease aud gain. 
To wake and wage a danger profitless. Sd 

Duke. Nay, in all confidence, he's uot for 
Rliodes. 

First Off. Here is more news. 

Enter a Messenger. 

Mess. The Ottoraites, reverend and graciou.s, 
Steering with due course towards the isle of 

Rhodes, 
Have there injointed them with an after fleet. 
First Sen. Ay, so I thought. How many, 

as you guess ? 
Mess. Of thirty sail : and now they do re- 
stem 
Their backward course, bearing with frank ap- 
pearance 
Their purposes toward Cyprus. Signior Mon- 

tano. 
Your trusty and most valiant servitor, 40 

With his free duty recommends you thus, 
And prays you to believe him. 

Duke. 'Tis certain, then, for Cyprus. 
Marcus Luccicos, is uot he in town ? 
First Sen. He's now in Florence. 
Duke. Write from us to him ; post-post- 
haste dispatch. 
First Sen. Here comes Brabantio and the 
valiant Moor. 

Enter Brabantio, Othello, Iago. 
RoDERUiO, and Officers. 
Duke. Valiant Othello, we must straight 
employ j'ou 
Agamst tlie general enemy Ottoman. 
l^To Brabantio^ I did uot see you ; welcome, 
gentle signior ; 50 

We lack'd your counsel aud your help to- 
night. 
Bra. So did I yours. Good your grace, 
pardon me ; 
Neither my place nor aught I heard of busi- 
ness 
Hath raised me from ray bed, nor doth the 

general care 
Take hold on me, for my particular grief 
Is of so flood-gate and o'erbearing nature 
That it engluts and swallows other sorrows 
And it is still itself. 
Dtike. Why, what's the matter? 

Bra. My daughter ! O, my daughter ! 
Duke and Sen. Dead f 

Bra. Ay, to me ; 

She IS abused, gtol'n from me, and corrupted 
By spelis and medicines bought of mounte- 
banks ; 61 
For nature so preposterously to err. 



Scene hi.] 



OTHELLO. 



78T 



Being not deficient, blind, or lame of sense, 
Saus witchcralt could not 
Duke. Whoe'er he be that iu this foul pro- 
ceeding 
Hath thus beguiled 3-011 r daughter of herself 
And you of her, tlie bloody book of law 
You shall yourself read in the bitter letter 
After your own sense, yea, though our proper 

son 
Stood in your action. 

Bra. Humbly I thank your grace. 70 

Here is the man, this Moor, whom now, it 

seems, 
Your special mandate for the state-affairs 
Hath hither brought. 
Duke and iSen. We are very sorry for't. 
Duke. [To Othello] What, iu your owu 

part, can you say to this ? 
lira. Nothing, but this is so. 
0th, Most potent, grave, and reverend sig- 
niors. 
My very noble and approved good masters, 
That I iiave ta'eu away this old man's daugh- 
ter, 
It is most true ; true, I have married her : 
Tlie very head and front of my offending 80 
Hath this extent, no more. Rude am 1 in my 

speech. 
And little bless'd with the soft phrase of peace : 
For since these arms of mine had seven years' 
pith, "[used 

Till now some nine moons wasted, they have 
rheir dearest action hi the tented field. 
And little of this great world can I speak, 
M(.re than jiertains to feats of broil and battle, 
Aj.d therefore little shall I grace my cause 
Ii> lipeaking for myself. Yet, by your gra- 
cious patience, 
I .vill a round unvarnish'd tale deliver 90 

Of my whole course of love ; what drugs, 

what cliarms, 
What conjuration and what mighty magic, 
For such proceeding I am charged withal, 
I won his daughter. 

lira. A maiden never bold ; 

Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion 
lilush'd at herself ; and she, in spite of nature, 
Of years, of country, credit, every thing, 
To fall in love with what she fear'd to look on ! 
It is a judgment maim'd and most imperfect 
That will confess jierfection so could err 100 
Against all rules of nature, and must be driven 
To find out ]>raetices of cunning hell, 
Why this should be. I therefore vouch again 
That with some mixtures powerful o'er the 

blood. 
Or with some dram conjured to this effect. 
He wrought upon her. 

Duke, To vouch this, is no proof. 

Without more wider and more overt test 
Thau these thin liabits and poor likelihoods 
Of modern seeming do prefer against him. 

First Sen. But, Othello, speak : 110 

Did you by indirect and forced courses 
Subiiue and poison this youu^ maid's affec- 
tions? 



Or came it by request and such fair question 
As soul to soul affordeth ? 

0th. 1 do beseech you, 

Send for the lady to the Sagittary, 
And let her speak of me before her father : 
If you do find me foul in her report, 
The trust, the ottice I do hold of yon. 
Not only take away, but let your sentence 
Even fall upon my life. 
Duke. Fetch Desdemona hither. I'JO 

Olh. Ancient, conduct them ; you best 
know the place. [_Excuiit la'jo ami At-> 
tendant.s. 
And, till she come, ns truly as to heaven 
I do confess the vices of my blood. 
So justly to your graAc cars I'll present 
How I did thrive iu this fair lady's love. 
And she in mine. 
Duke. Say it, Othello. 
0th. Her father loved me ; oft invited me> 
Still questiou'd me the story of my life, 
From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes 
That I have pass'd. Kij 

I ran it through, even from my boyish days, 
To the very moment that he bade me tell it ; 
Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, 
Of moving accidents by flood and field. 
Of hair-breadth scapes i' the imminent deadly 

breach. 
Of being taken by the insolent foe 
And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence 
And portance in my travels' history : 
Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle, 140 
Kough quarries, rocks and hills whose heads 

touch heaven. 
It was my hint to speak, — such was the pro- 
cess ; 
And of the Cannib.als that each other eat, 
The Anthropophagi and men whose heads 
Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to heai 
Would Desdemona seriously incline : 
But still the house-affairs would draw her 

thence : 
Which ever as she could with haste dispatch, 
Slie'ld come again, and with a greedy ear 
Devour up my discoui'so ; which 1 observing. 
Took once a pliant hour, and found good 
means 151 

To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart 
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate. 
Whereof by parcels she had something heard, 
But not intentively : I did consent, 
And often did beguile her of her tear.s. 
When I did speak of some distressful stroke 
Tluit my youth suffer'd. My story being done, 
She gave me for my jiaius a worlii of sighs : 
She swore, in faith, 'twas .strange, 'twas pas- 
sing strange, KW 
'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful: 
She wish'd she had not heard it, yet she wi.sh'd 
That heaven had made her such a man ; she 

tliank'd me. 
And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her, 
I should but teach him how to tell my story, 
AaA tliat would woo her. Upon this hint! 



OTHELLO. 



[Act I, 



She loved rae for the dangers I had pass'd, 
And I loved her that she did pity them. 
Tliis only is the witchcraft 1 have used : 
Here comes the lady ; let her witness it. 170 

Enter Desdemona, Iago, and Attendants. 

Duke I tliink this tale would win my 
daughter too. 
Good Bi'abautio, 

Take up this mangled matter at the best : 
Msii do their broken weapons rather use 
Tlian their bare hands. 

lira. 1 pray you, hear her speak : 

Ii she confess that she was half the wooer, 
Destruction on my head, if my bad blame 
Liglit on tlie man ! Come hither, gentle mis- 
tress : 
Do you i)erceive in all this noble company 
VVIiere most you owe obedience ? 

Bcs. My noble father, 180 

I do perceive here a divided duty : 
To you I am bound for life and education ; 
My life and education both do learn me 
How to respect "you ; you are the lord of duty; 
Iain hitheito your daugliter : but here's my 

husband. 
And so much duty as my mother show'd 
To you, preferring vou before her fathei; 
So much I cliallenge chat I may profess 
Due to the Moor my lord. 

Bra. God be wi' you ! I have done. 

Please it your grace, on to the state-affairs : 
I had rather to adopt a child than get it. lid 
Come hither, Moor : 

I here do give thee that with all my heart 
Which, but thou hast already, with all my 

heart 
I would keep from thee. For your sake, jewel, 
I ain glad at soul I have no other child . 
For thy escape would teach me tyranny^ 
To hang clogs on them. I have done, mj lord. 
Duke. Let me speak like yourself, and lay 
a sentence, 1!I9 

Wliich, as a grise or step, may helpthe.se lovers 
Into your favor. 

Wlien remedies are past, the griefs are ended 
By seeing the worst, which late on hopes de- 
pended. 
To mourn a mischief that is past and gone 
Is the next way to draw new miscliief on. 
Wliat cannot bo preserved when fortune takes 
Patience her injury a mockery makes. 
Tlie robb'd that smiles steals something from 

the thief ; 
lie robs hinrself th.at spend.s a bootless grief. 

Bra. So let the Turk of Cyprus us beguile; 
We lose it not, so long as we can smile. 211 
lie bears the sentence well that nothing bears 
But tlie free comfort which fron» thence he 

hears. 
But lie bears both the .sentence and the sorrow 
That, to pay grief, must of poor patience bor- 
row. 
These sentences, to sugar, or to gall, 
Being strong on both sides, are equivocal : 
But words are words ; I never yet did hear 



Tliat the bruised heart was pierced through 

the ear. 
I humbly beseech you, proceed to the affairs 
of state. 220 

Duke. The Turk with a most mighty prep- 
aration makes for Cyprus. Othello, the forti- 
tude of the place is best known to you ; and 
though we have there a substitute of most 
allowed sufficiency, yet opinion, a sovereign 
mistress of effects, throws a more safer voica 
on you: you must therefore be content to 
slubber the gloss of your new fortunes with 
this more stubborn and boisterous expedition. 

0th. The tyrant custom, most grave sena- 
tors, . 230 
Hath made the flinty and steel couch of war 
My thrice-driven bed of down : I do agnize 
A natural and prompt alacrity 
I find in hardness, and do undertake 
These present wars against the Ottomites. 
Most humbly therefore bending to your .state, 
1 crave fit disposition for my wife. 
Due reference of place and exhibition. 
With such accommodation and besort 
As levels with her breeding. 

Duke. If you please, 240 

Be't at her father's. 

Bra. I'll not have it so. 

0th. Nor I. 

Des. Nor I ; I would not there reside. 

To put my father in impatient thoughts 
By being in his eye. Most gracious duke, 
To my unfolding lend your prosperous ear ; 
And let me find a charter in your voice. 
To assist my simpleness. 

Duke. What would you, Desdemona ? 

Des. That I did love the Moor to live with 
him, 249 

My downright violence and storm of fortunes 
May trumpet to the world : my heart's subdued 
Even to the very quality of my lord : 
I saw Otliello's visage in his mind, 
And to his honor and his valiant parts 
Did I my soul and fortunes coiij^ecrate. 
So that, dear lords, if I be left behind, 
A moth of peace, and he go to the war, 
The rites for which I love him are bereft me, 
And I a heavy interim shall support 
By his dear absence. Let me go with him. 260 

Oih. Let her have your voices. 
Vouch with me, heaven, I therefore beg it not, 
To please the palate of my appetite, 
Nor to comply with heat — the young affects 
In me defunct — and proper satisfaction, 
But to be free and bounteous to her mind : 
And heaven defend your good .souls, that you 

think 
I will your serious and great business scant 
For she is with me : no, when light-wing'd toys 
Of feather'd Cupid seal with wanton dullness 
My speculative and ofiiced instruments, 271 
That my disports corrui>t and taint my busi- 
ness, 
Let housewives make a skillet of my helm, 
And all indign and base adversities 
Make head against my estimatiou ( 



I 



Scene hi.] 



OTHELLO 



789 



Duke. Be it as you shall privately deter- 
mine, 
Either for her stay or going • the affair cries 

haste, 
And speed must answer it. 

First Sen. You must away to-uight. 

0th. With all my lieart. 

Duke. At nine i' the morning here we'll 
meet again. 280 

(ithello, leave some officer behind, 
And he shall our commission bring to you ; 
With such tilings else of quality and respect 
As doth im]3ort you. 

0th. So )ilease your grace, my ancient ; 

.4. man he is of honesty and trust : 
To his conveyance I assign my wife, 
With what else needful your good grace shall 

think 
To be sent after me. 

Duke. Let it be so. 

Good night to every cue. [7b firab.] .\nd, 

noble signior, 
If virtue no delighted beauty lack, 290 

Your son-in-law is far more fair than black. 

First Sen. Adieu, brave Moor ; use Desde- 
mona well. 

Bra. Look to her, Moor, if thou hast eyes 
to see : 
She has deceived her father, and may thee. 

[fJxeuut Duke, Senators, Offleers, .(v. 

0th. My life upon her faith ! Honest lago, 
My Desdemona must I leave to thee : 
1 iirithee, let thy wife attend on her : 
And bring them after in the best advantage. 
Come, Desdemona : I have but an hour 
Of love, of worldly matters and direction, 300 
To spend witli thee : we must obey tlie time. 
[Exeunt Othello and Desdemona. 

Rod. lago,— 

lago. What say'st thou, noble heart ? 

Rod. What will I do, thiukest thou ? 

lago. Why, go to bed, and sleep. 

Rod. I will incontinently drown myself. 

lago. If thou dost, I sliall never love thee 
after. Why, thou silly gentleman ! 

Rod. It is silliness to live when to live is 
torment ; and then have we a prescription to 
die when death is oar pliysician. 311 

lago. villanous ! I h.ave looked upon the 
world for four times seven years ; and since I 
could di.stinguish betwixt a benefit and an 
injury, I never found man that knew how to 
love himself. Itc I would say, I would drown 
myself for the love of a guinea-hen, I would 
change my humanity with a baboon. 

Rod. AVhat should I do ? I confess it is my 
shame to be so fond ; but it is not in my vir- 
tue to amend it. .■>21 

lago. Virtue ! a fig ! 'tis in ourselves tiiat 
we are tlius or thus. Our bodies are our gar- 
dens, to the which our wills are gardeners : so 
that if we will plant nettles, or sow lettuce, set 
hyssop and weed up thyme, supply it with 
one gender of herbs, or distract it with many, 
either to have it steiile with idleness, or lua- 
flured with industry, why, the power aud cor- 



rigible authority of this lies in our willa. If 
the balance of our lives had not one scale of 
reason to poise another of sensuality, the blood 
and baseness of our natures would conduct us 
to most preposterous conclusions : but we 
have reason to cool our raging motions, our 
cjirnal stiugs, our >inbitted lusts, whereof I 
take this that you call love to be a sect or sciou. 
Rod. It cannot 1)C. 

lago. It is merely a lust of the blood and a 
])ermission of the will. Come, be a man. 
Drown thyself ! drown cats and blind pup- 
l)ies. I have professed me thy friend and I 
confess me knit to thy deserving with cables 
of perdural)le toughness ; I could never better 
stead thee than now. I'lit money in thy purse; 
follow tliou the wars ; defeat thy favor with an 
usurped beard ; I say, put money in thy 
purse. It cannot be that Desdemona should 
long continue her love to the Moor,— |)ut 
money in thy purse, — nor he his to her : it 
was a violent commencement, and tliou shalt 
see an answerable sequestration :— put but 
money in thy purse. These Moors are change- 
able in their wills:— fill thy purse with money: 
—the food that to him now is as luscious as 
locusts, shall be to him shortly as bitter as 
coloquintida. She must change for youth : 
when she is sated with liis body, she will find 
the error of her choice : she must have change, 
she must : therefore put money in thy purse. 
If thou wilt needs damn thyself, do it a 
more delicate way than drowning. Jlakc all 
the money thou canst : if sanctimony and 
a frail vow betwixt au erring barbarian and a 
supersubtle Venetian be not too hard for my 
wits and all the tribe of hell, thou shalt enjoy 
her ; therefore make money. A j)o.\ of drown- 
ing thyself ! it is clean out of the way : seek 
thou rather to be hanged in compassing thy joy 
than to be drowned and go without her. 

Rod. Wilt thou be fast to my hopes, if I 
depend on the issue ? 370 

lago. Thou art sure of me : — go, make 
money : — I have told thee often, and I re-tell 
thee again and again, I hate the Moor : my 
cause is hearted ; thine hath no less reason. 
Let us be conjunctive in our revenge against 
him : if thou canst cuckold him, thoudostthy- 
self a pleasure, me a sport. There are maiiy 
events in the womb of time which will be de^ 
livered. Traverse ! go, provide thy nioiieyj 
We will have more of tliis to-morrow. iVdieu. 

Red. Where shall we meet i' the morn- 
ing ? 381 

lago. At my lodging. 

Rod. I'll be with thee betimes. 

lago. Go to ; farewell. Do you hear. Rode- 
rigo ? 

Rod. What say you ? 

lago. No more of drowning, do you hear ? 

Rod. I am changed : I'll go sell all my 
laud. [Exit. 

lago. Thus do I ever make my fool my 

purse : [fane, 

For I mine qwu gain'd knowledge should pro- 



790 



OTHELLO. 



[Act II. 



If I would time expeud with such a snipe, 
But for uiy sport iind profit I hate the Moor : 
Aud it is tliought abroad, tliat 'tvvixt my 

sheets 
He lias done my office : I know not if't be 

true ; 
But I, for mere suspicion iu that kind. 
Will do as if for surety. He holds me well ; 
The better shall my purpose work on him. 
Cassio's a proper man : let me see now : 
To j;et his place and to plume up my will 399 
In double knavery — How, how ? Let's see: — 
After some time, to abuse Othello's ear 
Tliat 1ie is too familiar Avith his <vife. 
He liath a i)erson and a smooth dispose 
To be suspected, framed to make women 

false. 
The Moor is of a free and open nature. 
That thinks men honest that but seem to be 

so, 
And will as tenderly be led by the nose 
As asses are. 

I have't. It is engender'd. Hell and night 
Must bring this monstrous birth to the world's 

light. {Exit, 410 



ACT II. 



Scene I. A Sea-port in Gypnis. An open 
place near the quay. 
Enter jNIontano and tioo Gentlemen. 
Mon. What ivom the cape can you discern 

at sea ? 
First Gent. Xothing at all ; it is a high- 
wrought ilood ; 
f cannot, 'twixt the heaven and the main. 
Descry a sail. 
Mon. Methinks the wind hath spoke aloud 
at land ; 
A fuller blast ne'er shook our battlements : 
If it hath rufhan'd so upon the sea, 
What ribs of oak, when mountains melt on 

them, 
Can hold the mortise ? What shall we hear of 
this ? 
Sec. Gent. A segregation of the Turkish 
fleet : " 10 

For do but stand upon the foaming shore, 
The chidden billow seems to pelt the clouds ; 
The wind-shaked surge, with high aud mon- 
strous mane. 
Seems to cast water on the burning bear. 
And quench the guards of the ever-fixed pole: 
I never did like molestation view 
On the enchafed flood. 

Mon. If that the Turkish fleet 

Be not enshelter d and embay'd, they are 

drown'd : 
It is impossible they bear it out. 

Enter a third Gentleman. 
Third, Gent. News, lads ! our wars are 
done. 20 

The desperate tempest hath so bang'd the 
Turks, 



Tliat their desigumeut halts : a noble ship of 

Venice 
Hath seen a grievous wreck and sufferance 
On most part of their fleet. 
Mon. How ! is this true ? 
Third Gent. The ship is here put in, 

A Veronesa ; Michael Cassio, 
Lieutenant to the warlike Moor Othello, 
Is come on shore : the Moor himself at sea. 
And is in full commission here for Cyprus. 
Mon. I am glad on't ; 'tis a worthy gov- 
ernor. 30 
Third Gent. But this same Cassio, though 
he speak of comfort 
Touching the Turkish loss, yet he looks sadly, 
And prays the Moor be safe ; for they were 

parted 
With foul and violent tempest. 

Mon. Pray heavens lu be ; 

For I have served him, and the man com- 
mands 
Like a full soldier. Let's to the seaside, ho ! 
As well to see the vessel that's come in 
As to throw out our eyes for brave Othello, 
Even till we make the main and the aerial 

blue 
An indistinct regard. 

Tliird Gent. Come, let's do so : 40 

For every minute is expectancy 
Of more arrivance. 

Enter Cassio. 

Cas. Thanks, you the valiant of this war- 
like isle. 
That so approve the Moor ! O, let the heavens 
Give him defence against the elements. 
For I have lost him on a dangerous sea. 
Mon. Is he well shipp'd ? 
Cas. His bark is stoutly timber'd, and his 
pilot 
Of very expert and approved allowance ; 
Therefore my hopes, not surfeited to death. 
Stand in bold cure. 51 

\^A cry within ' A sail, a sail, a sail 1 ' 

Enter a fourth Gentleman. 
Cas. What noise ? 

Fourth Gent. The town is empty ; oi the 
brow o' the sea 
Stand ranks of people, and they cry ' A sail ! ' 
Cas. My hopes do shape him for the gover- 
nor. \^Giins heard. 
Sec. Gent. They do discharge their shot of 
courtesy : 
Our friends at least. 

Cas. I pray you, sir, go forth, 

And give us truth who 'tis that is arrived. 
Sec. Gent. I shall. [Exit 

Mon. But, good lieutenant, is your general 
wived ? 6C 

Cas. Most fortunately : he hath achieved a 
maid 
That paragons description and wild fame ; 
One that excels the quirks of blazoning pens, 
And in the essential vesture of creation 
1)069 (iie the ingeuec. 



iiCENB I.] 



OTHELLO. 



?yi 



Re-enter second Gentleman. 

How now ! who has put in ? 
Bee. Gent. 'Tis one lago, ancient to the gen- 
eral. 
Cos. Has liad most favorable and happy 
speeci : 
Tempests themselves, liigh seas, and howling 

winds, 
The gutter' d rocks and congregated sands, — 
Traitors ensteep'd to clog the guiltless keel, — 
As having sense of beauty, do omit 71 

Their mortal natures, letting go safely by 
The divine Desdemona. 
Mon. "What is she ? 

Cas. She that I spake of, our great cai)tain'3 
captain, 
Left in the conduct of the bold lago. 
Whose footing here anticipates our thouglits 
A se'nnight's speed. Great Jove, Othello 

guard. 
And swell his sail with thine own powerful 

breath, 
That he may bless this bay with his tall ship, 
Make love's quick pants in Desdemona's 
arms, 80 

Give renew'd fire to our extincted spirits 
And bring all Cyprus comfort ! 
Enter Desdemona, Emilia, Iago, Roder- 
iGO, and Attendants. 

0, behold. 
The riches of the ship is come on shore ! 
Ye men of Cyprus, let her have your knees. 
Hail to thee, lady! and the grace of heaven. 
Before, behind thee, and on every hand, 
Enwheel thee round ! 

Les. I thank you, valiant Cassio. 

What tidings can you tell me of my lord ? 
Cas He is not yet arrived : nor know I 
aught 
But that he's well and will be shortly here. 90 
Des. O, but I fear — How lost you com- 
pany ? 
Cas. The great conteutiou of the sea and 
skies 
Parted our fellowship— But, hark ! a sail. 

[Within ' A sail, a sail ! ' Guns heard. 
Sec. Gen. They give their greeting to the 
citadel ; 
This likewise is a friend. 

Cas. See for the news. [Exit f/entlcmen. 
Good ancient, you are welcome. [To Einilia] 

Welcome, mistress. 
Let it not gall your patience, good lago, 
That I extend my manners ; 'tis my breeding 
That gives me tliis bold show of courtesy 100 

[Kissinfj her. 
Iago. Sir, would she give you so much of 
her lips 
As of her tougue she oft bestows on me, 
You 'Id have enough. 
Des. Alas, she has no speech. 

lar/o. In faith, too much ; 
I find it still, when [ have list to sleep: 
Slurry, before your ladyship, I grant, 
t>lie puts her tougue a little in her heart. 



And chides with thinking. 
Enul. You have little cause to say f»o. 
Iago. Come on, come on ; you are pictures 
out of doors, 1 10 

Bells in your parlors, wild-cats in your kitch- 
ens. 
Saints in your injuries, devils being offended. 
Players iii your ]iou.sewifery, and housewives 
in your beds. 
Des. O, fie upon thee, slanderer ! 
Iago. Nay, it is true, or else I am a Turk : 
You rise to play and go to bed to work. 
Emil. You shall not write my praise. 
laf/o. No, let nie not. 

Des. What wouldst thou write of me, if 

thou shouldst praise me ? 
Iago gentle lady, do not put me to't ; 
For i am nothing, if not critical. 120 

Des. Come on, assay. There's one gone to 

the harbor ? 
Iago, Ay, madam. 

Des. I am not merry ; but I do beguile 
The thing I am, by seeming otherwise. 
Come, how wouldst thou praise me ? 
Iago. I am about it ; but indeed my inven- 
tion 
Comes from my pate as birdlime does from 

frize ; 
It plucks out brains and all : but my Muse 

labors. 
And thus she is deliver'd. 
If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit, lofl 
The one's for use, the oth.er useth it. 
Des. Wall praised ! How if she be bhick 

and witty ? 
Iago. If she be black, and thereto have a 
wit, 
She'll find a white that shall her blackness tit. 
Des. Worse and worse. 
Emil. How if fair and foolish ? 
Iago, She never yet was foolish that was 
fair ; 
For even her folly help'd her to an heir. 

Des. These are old fond paradoxes to make 
fools laugh i' the alehouse. What miserable 
praise hast thou for her that's foul and fool- 
ish ? 141 
Iago. There's none so foul and foolish there- 
unto. 
But does foul pranks which fair and wise ones 
do. 
Des. O heavy ignorance ! thou praisest the 
worst best. But what praise couldst thou be- 
stow on a deserving woman indeed, one tli.at, 
in the authority of "her merit, did justly put on 
the vouch of very malice itself ? 
Iago. She that was ever fair and never 
proud, 
Had tongue at will and yet was never loud, 150 
Never la'ck'd gold and yet went never gay. 
Fled from her wish and yet said ' Now I may,* 
She that being anger'd, her revenge being 

nigh. 
Bade her wrong stay and her displeasure fly. 
She that in wisdom never was so frail 
To change the cod's head for the salmon'stail, 



792 



OTHELLO. 



[Act n. 



She that could think aud ne'er disclose her 

miud, 
See suitors following and not look behind, 
She was a wiglit, if ever such wight were, — 

Des, To do what ? 1(30 

lago. To suckle fools and chronicle small 
beer. 

Des. O most lame and impotent conclusion ! 
Do not learn of him, Emilia, though he be thy 
husband. How say you, Cassio ? is he not a 
most profane and liberal counsellor ? 

Cas. He speaks home, madam : you may 
relish him more in the soldier than in the 
scholar. 

Icufo. [Asiclel He takes her by the palm : 
ay, well said, whisper : with as little a web as 
this will I ensnare as great a fly as Cassio. Ay, 
smile upou hor, do ; I will gyve thee in thine 
own courtship. You say true ; 'tis so, indeed : 
if such tricks as the-^e strip you out of your 
lieutenantry, it had been better you had not 
kissed your three fingers so oft, which now 
again you are most apt to play the sir in. Very 
good ; well kissed ! an excellent courtesy ' 
'tis so, indeed. Yet again your fingers to your 
lips ? would they were clyster-pipes for j'our 
sake ! [Trumpet within.] The Moor ! I know 
his trumpet. 180 

Cas. 'Tis truly so. 

Des. Let's meet him aud receive him. 

Cas. Lo, where he comes ! 

Enter Othello and Attendants. 

0th. my fair warrior ! 

Des. My dear Othello ! 

0th. It gives me wonder great as my con- 
tent 
To see you here before me. O ray soul's joy ! 
If after every tempest come such calms. 
May tlie winds blow till they have waken'd 

death ! 
And let the laboring bark climb hills of seas 
Olympus-high and duck again as low ISK) 

As' hell's from heaven ! If it were now to die, 
'Twere now to be most happy ; for, I fear, 
My soul hath her content so absolute 
That not another comfort like to this 
Succeeds in unknown fate. 

Des. The heavens forbid 

But that our loves and comforts should in- 
crease, 
Even as our days do grow ! 

Ot/i. Amen to that, sweet powers I 

I cannot speak enough of this content ; 
It stops me here ; it is too much of joy : 
And this, and this, the greatest discords be 

[Kissing her. 200 
That e'er our hearts shall make ! 

lago. [Aside] O, you are well tuned now ! 
But I'll set down the pegs that make this 

music, 
Ab honest as I am. 

0th. Come, lee us to the castle. 

News, friends ; our wars are done, the Turks 

are drown'd. 
llow does my old acquaintance of this jsle ? 



Honey, you shall be well desired in Cyprus ; 
1 have found great love amongst them. O my 

sweet, 
I prattle out of fashion, and I dote 
In mine own comforts. I prithee, good lago. 
Go to the bay aud disembark my coffers : 210 
Bring tliou the master to the citadel ; 
He is a good one, and his worthiness 
Does challenge much respect. Come, Desde- 

mona. 
Once more, well met at Cyprus. 
[Exeunt Othello, Desdemona, and Attendants. 

lago. Do thou meet me presentlj^ at the 
harbor. Come hither. If thou be'st valiant, — 
as, they say, base men being in love have then 
a nobility in their natures more than is native 
to them, — list me. The lieutenant to-night 
watches on the court of guard : — first, I must 
tell thee this — Desdemona is directly in love 
with him. ' 221 

Rod. With him ! why, 'tis not possible. 

lago. Lay thy finger thus, and let thy soul 
be instructed. Mark me with what violence 
she fir.st loved the Moor, but for bragging and 
telling her fantastical lies : and will she love 
him still for prating ? let not thy discreet 
heart think it. Her eye must be fed ; and 
what deliglit shall she have to look on the 
devil ? When the blood is made dull with 
the act of sport, there should be, again to in- 
flame it and to give satiety a fresh appetite, 
loveliness in favor, sympathy in years, 
manners and beauties ; all which the Moor is 
defective in: now. for want of these required 
conveniences, her delicate tenderness will find 
itself abused, begin to heave tlie gorge, dis- 
relish and abhor the Moor ; very nature will 
instruct her in it and compel her to some second 
clioiee. Now, sir, this granted, — as it is ai 
most pregnant and unforced position — who 
stands so eminent in the degree of this fortune 
as Cassio does ? a knave very voluble ; no 
further conscionable than in putting on the 
mere form of civil and humaue seeming, for 
the better compassing of his salt find most 
hidden loose affection ? why, none ; why, 
none : a slipper and subtle knnve, a finder of 
occasions, that has an eye can stamp and 
counterfeit advantages, though true advan- 
tage never jtresent itseif ; a devil isli knave. 
Besides, the knave is handsome, young, and 
hath all tliose requisites in him that folly and 
green minds look after: a pestilent complete 
knave ; and the woman hath found him al- 
ready. 

Rod. I cannot believe that in her ; she's 
full of most blessed condition. 

lago. Blessed fig's-end ! the wiue she drinks 
is made of grapes : if she had been blessed, 
she would never have loved the Moor. Blessed 
pudding ! Didst thou not see her paddle with 
the palm of his hand ? didst not mark that ? 

Rod. Yes, that I did ; but that was but 
courtesy. 

lago. Lechery, by this hand ; an index and 
obscure prologue to the history of lust and 



ScEXE in.] 



OTHELLO. 



793 



foul thoughts. They met so near with their 
lips that their breatlis embraced together. 
Villauous thoughts, Roderigo ! wheu these 
mutualities so marshal the way, hard at hand 
comes the master and main exercise, the in- 
corporate conclusion. Pish .' But, sir, be you 
ruled by me : I have brought you from Venice. 
Watch you to-night ; for the command, I'll 
lay't upon you. Cassio knows you not. I'll 
not be far from you : do you find some occa- 
sion to auger Cassio, either by speaking too 
loud, or tainting his discij)line ; or from what 
other course you please, which the time shall 
more favorably minister. 
Rod. Well. 

lago. Sir, he is rash and very sudden in 
choler, and haply may strike at you : provoke 
him, that he may ; for even out of that will I 
cause these of Cyprus to mutiny ; whose 
qualiticatiou shall' come into no true taste 
again but by the displanting of Cassio, So 
shall you have a shorter journey to your de- 
sires by the means I shall then have to jnefer 
them ; and the impediment most profitably 
removed, without the which there were no ex- 
pet't'ition of our prosperity. 

E'xl. I will do this, if I can bring it to any 
o])pcatuuity. 290 

I<t[jo. I warrant thee. Meet me by and Ijj^ 
at the citadel : I must fetch his necessaries 
ashore. Farewell. 
Rod. Adieu. [Exit, 

lago. That Cassio loves her, I do well be- 
lieve it ; 
That she loves him, 'tis apt and of great 

credit : 
The Moor, howbeit that I endure him not. 
Is of a constant, loving, noble nature, 
And I dare think he'll prove to Desdemona 
A most dear husband. Xow, I do love her 
too ; 300 

Net out of absolute lust, though peradventure 
I stand accountant for as great a sin, 
But partly led to diet ray revenge, 
For that I do suspect the lusty Moor 
Hath leap'd into my seat ; the thought whereof 
Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my in- 
wards ; 
And nothing can or shall content ray soul 
Till I am even'd witli him, wife for wife, 
Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor 
At least into a jealousy so strong 310 

Tnat judgment cannot cure. Which thing to 

dor 
If this poor trash of Venice, whom 1 trash 
For his quick hunting, stand tie putting on, 
I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip. 
Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb — 
For I fear Cassio witli my night-cap too — 
Make the Moor tliank me, love me and reward 

me. 
For making liira egregiously an ass 
And practising upon his peace and quiet 31!) 
Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet confused : 
Knavery's plain fac^ is never seen till used. 

iExit. 



Scene II. A street. 

Enter a Herald with a proclamation ; People 
J'oUowinf/. 

Her. It is Othello's pleasure, our noble and 
valiant general, that, upon cert^iin tidings now 
arrived, importing the mere perdition of the 
Turkish fleet, every man put himself into tri- 
umph ; some to dance, some to make bonfires, 
each man to what sport and revels his addic- 
tion leads him : for, besides tliese beneficial 
news, it is the celebration of his nuptial. So 
much was his jjleasure should be proclaimed. 
All offices are open, and there is full liberty of 
feasting from this present hour of five tilfthe 
bell have told eleven. Heaven bless the isle of 
Cyprus and our noble general Othello ! 

[Exeunt. 

Scene in. A hall in the castle. 

Enter Othello, Desdemona, Cassio, and 
Attendants. 

0th. Good Michael, look you to the guard 
to-night : 
Let's teach ourselves that honorable stop, 
Not to ontsport discretion. 

C'as. lago hath direction what to do ; 
But, notwithstanding, with my personal eye 
Will I look to't. 

0th. lago is most honest. 

Micliael, good night : to-morrow with your 

earliest 
Let me have speech with you. [ To Desdemonal 

Come, my dear love. 
The purchase made, the fruits are to ensue ; 
That profit 's yet to come 'tween me and you. 
Good night. 11 

[Exeunt Othello, Desdemona, and Attendants. 

Enter Iago. 

C'as. Welcome, lago ; we must to the watch. 

Iago. Not this hour, lieutenant ; 'tis not 
yet ten o' tlie clock. Our general ca.st us thus 
early for the love of his Desdemona ; who let 
us not therefore blame : he hath not yet made 
wanton the night with her ; and she is sport 
for Jove. 

Cos. She's a most exquisite lady. 

Iago. And, I'll warrant her, full of game. 

Ca.'i. Indeed, she's a most fresh and deli- 
cate creature. 21 

Iago. What an eye she has ! methinks it 
sounds a parley of provocation. 

Cas. An inviting eye ; and yet methinks 
right modest. 

Iago. And wheu she speaks, is it not an 
alarum to love ? 

Cas. She is indeed perfection. 

Ia;/o. Well, happiness to their sheets ! Come, 
lieutenant, I have a stoup of wine ; and here 
without are a brace of Cyprus gallants that 
would fain have a measure to the health of 
black Othello. 

Cas. Not to-night, good lago : I have very 
poor and unhappy brains for drinking : I cowld 



794 



OTHELLO. 



[Act h. 



well wish courtesy would invent some other 
custom of entertainment. 

lar/o. O, they are our friends; but one cup : 
I'll drink for you. 39 

Cas. I have drunk but one cup to-night, 
and that was craftily qualified too, and, behold, 
what innovatiou it makes here : I am unfor- 
tunate iu the infirmity, and dare not task my 
weakness with any more. 

lacjo. What, man ! 'tis a night ol revels : 
the gallauts desire it. 

Cas. Wliere are they ? 

lano. Here at the door ; I pray you, call 
them in. 

Cas. I'll do't ; but it dislikes me. [Exit. 

lac/o. If I can fasten but one cup upon him. 
With that which he hath drunk to-night al- 
ready, 51 
He'll be as full of quarrel and offence 
As ray young mistress' dog. Now, my sick 

fool Roderigo, 
Whom love hath turn'd almost the wrong side 

out, 
To Desdemona hath to-night caroused 
Potiitious pottle-deep ; and he's to watch : 
Three lads of Cyprus, noble swelling spirits. 
That hold their honors in a wary distance. 
The very elements of this warlike isle, 
Have I to-night fluster" d with flowing cups, GO 
And they watoh too. Now, 'mongst this flock 

of drunkards, 
Am I to put our Cassio in some action 
That may offend the isle. — But here they come : 
If consequence do but approve my dream. 
My boat sails freely, both with wind and 
stream. 

Re-enter Cassio ; with him Montano and 
Gentlemen ; servants following loith loine. 

Cas. 'Fore God, they have given me a rouse 
already. 

Mon. Good faith, a little one ; not past a 
pint, as I am a soldier. 

lago. Some wine, ho ! 70 

[Sings] And let me the canakiu clink, clink ; 
And let me the canakin clink : 
A soldier's a man ; 
A life's but a span ; 
Why, then, let a soldier drink. 
Some wine, boys ! 

Cas. 'Fore God, an excellent song. 

lago. I learned it in England, where, in- 
deed, they are most potent in potting : your 
Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied 
Hollander — Drink, ho !— are nothing to your 
English. 81 

Cas. Is your Englishman so expert in his 
drinking ? 

lago. Why, he drinks you, with facility, 
your Dane dead drunk ; he sweats not to over- 
throw your Almain ; he gives your Hollander 
a vomit, ere the next pottle can be filled. 

Cas. To the health of our general ! 

Mon. I am for it, lieutenant ; and I'll do 
you justice. yo 

Jago. sweet Englaod I 



King Stephen was a worthy peer, 

His breeches cost him but a crown ; 
He held them sixpence all too dear, 

With that he call'd the tailor lowu. 
He was a wight of high renown. 

And thou art but of low degree : 
'Tis pride that pulls the country down •, 
Tlieu take thiue auld cloak about thee. 
Some wine, ho ! 100 

Cas. Why, this is a more exquisite soug 
than the other. 

lago. Will you hear't again ' 

Cas. No ; for I hold him to be unworthy of 
his place that does those things. Well, God's 
above all ; and there be souls must be saved, 
and there be souls must not be saved. 

lago. It's true, good lieutenant. 

Cas. For mine own part, — no offence to the 
general, nor any man of quality, — 1 hope to be 
saved. Ill 

Jago. And so do I too, lieutenant. 

Cas. Ay, but, by your leave, not before me ; 
the lieutenant is to be saved before the ancient. 
Let's have no more of this ; let's to our affairs. — 
Forgive us our sins ! — Gentlemen, let's look to 
our business. Do not think, gentlemen, I am 
drank : this is my ancient ; tliis is my right 
hand, and this is my left : I am not drunk 
now ; I can stand well enough, and speak well 
enough. 120 

All. Excellent well. 

Cas. Why, very well then ; you must not 
think then that I am drunk. [Exit. 

Mon. To the platform, masters ; come, let's 
set the watch. 

lago. You see this fellow that is gone be- 
fore ; 
He is a soldier fit to stand by Cnesar 
And give direction : and do but see his vice ; 
'Tis to his virtue a just equinox, 
The one as long as the other : 'tis pity of him. 
I fear the trust Othello puts aim iu, 131 

On some odd time of his infirmity. 
Will shake this island. 

3Ion. But is he often thus ? 

lago. 'Tis evermore the prologue to his 
sleep : 
He'll watch the horologe a double set, 
If drink rock not his cradle. 

Mon. It were well 

The general were put in mind of it. 
Perhaps he sees it not ; or his good nature 
Prizes the virtue that appears iu Cassio, 130 
And looks not on his evils : is not this true ? 

Enter Roderigo. 

lago. [Aside to hi^i] How now, Roderigo I 
I pray you, after the lieutenant ; go. 

[Exit Roderigo. 

Mon. And 'tis great pity that the noble 
Moor 
Should liazard such a place as his own second 
With one of an ingraft infirmity : 
It were an honest action to say 
So to the Moor. 

ia^Q. Not I, for this fair Island : 



Scene iij.) 



OTHELLO. 



795 



I do love Cassio well ; and would do much 
To cure him of this evil — But, hark 1 what 
noise ? 

\_Cry within : ' Help ! help 1 * 
Re-enter Cassio, driving in Roderigo. 
Cas. You rogue ! you rascal ! 
Mon. What's the matter, lieutenant ? 

(Jas. A knave teach nie my duty ! 151 

I'll beat tlie knave into a twiggeu bottle. 
Rod. Beat me ! 
Cas. Dost thou prate, rogue ? 

[Striking Roderigo. 
Mon. Nay, good lieutenant; 

[Staying him. 
I pray you, sir, hold your hand. 

Cas. Let me go, sir. 

Or I'll knock you o'er the mazzard. 

3Ion. Come, come, you're drunk. 

C'rts. Drunk ! [They Jight. 

lago. [Aside to Roderigo^ Away, I saj' ; go 

out, and cry a mutiny. [Exit Roderigo. 

Nay, good lieutenant, — alas, gentlemen ; — 

Help, ho ! — Lieutenant, — sir, — Montano, — sir ; 

Help, masters I — Here's a goodly watch indeed ! 

[Bell rings. 
Who's that which rings the bell ?— Diablo, ho! 
The town will rise : God's will, lieutenant, 

hold ! 
You will be shamed for ever. 

Re-enter Othello and Attendants. 
0th. What is the matter here ? 

Mon. 'Zounds, I bleed still ; I am hurt to 
the deatli. [Faints. 

0th. Hold, for your lives ! 
lago. Hold, ho ! Lieutenant, — sir, — Mon- 
tano, — gentlemen, — 
Have yon forgot all sense of place and duty ? 
Hold ! the general speaks to you ; liold, hold, 
for shame ! 
0th. Why, how now, ho ! from whence 
ariseth this ? 
Are we turn'd Turks, and to ourselves do that 
Which heaven hath forbid theOttomites ? 171 
For Christian shame, put by this barbarous 

brawl : 
He that stirs next to carve for his own rage 
Holds his soul light ; he dies upon his motion. 
Silence that dreadful bell : it frights the isle 
From her lu-opriety. What is the matter, mas- 
ters? 
Honest lago, that look'st dead with grieving, 
Speak, who began this ? on thy love, I charge 
thee. 
lago. I do not know : friends all but now, 
even now, 179 

In quarter, and in terms like bride and groom 
Devesting them for bed ; and then, but now — 
As if some planet had unwitted men — 
Swords out, and tilting one at other's breast, 
In opposition bloody. I cannot speak 
Any beginning to this peevish odds ; 
And would in action glorious I had lost 
Tliose legs that brought me to a part of it ! 
Olh. How comes it, Michael, you are thus 
forgot ? 



Cas. I pray you, pardon me ; I cannot speak. 
0th. Worthy Montano, you were wont be 

civil ; lyo 

Tlie gravity and stillness of your youth 
The world hath noted, and your name is great 
In mouths of wisest censure : what's the mat- 
ter. 
That you unlace your reputation thus 
And spend your rich opinion for the name 
Of a night-brawler ? give me answer to ii. 

Mon. Worthy Othello, lam hurt to danger: 
Your officer, lago, can inform you, — 
While I spare speech, which something now 

offends me, — 
Of all that I do know : nor know I aught 200 
By me that's said or done amiss this night ; 
Unless self-charity be sometmiesa vice. 
And to defend ourselves it be a sin 
When violence assails us. 

0th. Now, by heaven. 

My blood begins my safer guides to rule ; 
And passion, having my best judgment collied, 
Assays to lead the way : it I once stir, 
Or do but lift this arm, the best of you 
Shall sink in my rebuke. Give me to know 
How this foul rout began, who set it on ; 210 
And he that is approved in this offence. 
Though he had twinu'd with me, both at a 

birth, 
Shall lose me. What ! in a town of war. 
Yet wild, the people's hearts brimful of fear. 
To manage private and domestic quarrel. 
In night, and on the court and guard of safety! 
'Tis monstrous. lago, who began't ? 

Mon. If partially affined, or leagued in office, 
Thou ^ost deliver more or less than truth. 
Thou art no soldier. 

lago. Touch me not so near : 220 

I had rather have this tongue cut from my 

mouth 
Than it should do offence to Michael Cassio ; 
Yet, I persuade myself, to speak the truth 
Shall nothing wrong him. Thus it is, general. 
Montano and myself being in speech, 
There comes a fellow crying out for help : 
And Cassio following him with determined 

sword, 
To execute upon him. Sir, this gentleman 
Steps in to Cassio, and entreats his pause : 
Myself the crying fellow did pursue, 2oO 

Lest by his clamor — as it so fell out — 
The town miglit fall in fright : Jie, swift of 

foot. 
Outran my purpose ; and I return'd theratlier 
For that I heard the clink and fall of swords. 
And Cassio high in oath ; which till to-night 
I ne'er might say before. When I came back — 
For this was brief — I found them close together, 
At blow and thrust ; even as again they were 
When you yourself did ]iart them. 
More of this matter cannot I report : 240 

But men are men : the best sometimes forget: 
Tliotigh Cassio did some little wrong ti> him,' 
As men in rage strike tliose that wish them 

best. 
Yet swelj' Caaaio, I l)elieve, received 



r9G 



OTHELLO. 



[Act II 



From him that fled some strange indiguity, 
Which patience could not pass. 

Oth. I know, lago, 

Thy honesty and love doth mince this matter, 
Making it light to Cassio. Cassio, I love thee ; 
But never more be officer of mine. 

Re-enter Desdbmona, attended. 

Look, if my gentle love be not raised up ! 250 
I'll make thee an example. 

Des. What's the matter ? 

Oth. All's well now, sweeting ; come away 
to bed. [geou' : 

Sir, for your hurts, myself will be your sur- 
Lead him off. [To Montano, who is led. off. 

lago, look with care about the town, 
And silence those whom this vile brawl dis- 
tracted. 
Come, Desdemona : 'tis the soldiers' life 
To have their balmy slumbers waked with 
strife. [Exeunt all but lago and Cassia. 

lago. What, are you hurt, lieutenant ? 

Cas. Ay, past all surgery. 260 

lago. Marry, heaven forbid I 

Cas. Reputation, reputation, reputation ! O, 
I have lost mj^ reputation ! I have lost the im- 
mortal part of myself, and what remains is 
bestial. My reputation, lago, my rejjutation ! 

lago. As I am an honest man, 1 thouglit 
you had received some bodily wound ; there 
is more sense in that than in reputation. 
Reputation is an idle and most false imposi- 
tion : oft got without merit, and lost without 
deserving : you have lost no reputation at all, 
unless you repute yourself such a loser. 
What, man ! there are ways to recover the 
general again : you are but now cast in his 
mood, a punishment more in policy than in 
malice , even so as one would beat his of- 
fenceless dog to affright an imperious lion : 
sue to him again, and he's yours. 

Cas. I will rather sue to be despised than 
to deceive so good a commander with so 
sliglit, so drunken, and so indiscreet an offi- 
cer. Drunk ? and speak parrot ? and squab- 
ble ? swagger ? swear ? and discourse fus- 
tian with one's own shadow ? O thou invisi- 
ble spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be 
known by. let us call thee devil ! 

lago. What was he that you followed Avith 
your sword ? What liad he done to you ? 

Cas. I know not. 

lago. Is't possible ? 

Cas. I remember a mass of things, but 
nothing distinctly ; a quarrel, but nothing 
wherefore. O God, that men should put an 
enemy in their mouths to steal away their 
brains ! that we should, with joy, pleasance, 
revel and applause, transform ourselves into 
beasts ! 

lago. Why, but you are now well enough : 
how came you thus recovered ? 

Cas. It hath pleased the devil drunkenness 
to give place to the devil wrath ; one unper- 
fectness shows me another, to make me 
frankly despise myself. 300 



lago. Come, you are too severe a moraler ; 
as the time, the place, ;md the condition of 
this country stands, I could heartily wisii this 
had not befallen ; but, since it is as it is, 
mend it for your own good. 

Cas. I will ask him for my place again ; 
he .shall tell me I am a drunkard ! Had I as 
many mouths as Hydra, such an answer 
would stop them all. To be now a sensible 
man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast! 
O strange ! Every inordinate cup is unblessed 
and tlie ingredient is a devil. 

lago. Come, come, good wine is a good 
familiar creature, if it be well used : exclaim 
no more against it. And, good lieutenant, I 
think you think 1 love you. 

Cas. 1 have well approved it, sir. 1 drunk ! 

lago. You or any man living may be drunk 
at a time, man. i'Jl tell j'ou what you sliall 
do. Our general's wife is now the general : 1 
m;iy say so in this respect, for that he hath 
devoted and given up himself to the contem- 
plation, mark, and denotement of her parts 
and graces : confess yourself freely to her ; 
importune her hell) to put you in your place 
again : she is of so free, so kind, so apt, so 
blessed a disposition, she holds it a vice in 
her goodness not to do more than she is re- 
quested : this broken joint between you and 
her husband entreat her to splinter ; and, my 
fortunes against any lay worth naming, this 
crack of your love shall grow stronger than it 
was before. 331 

Cas. You advise me well. 

lago. 1 protest, in the sincerity of love and 
honest kindness. 

Cas. I think it freely ; and betimes in the 
morning I will beseech the virtuous Desde- 
mona to undertake for me : I am desperate of 
my fortunes if they check me here. 

lago. You are in the right. Good night, 
lieutenant ; I must to the watch. 340 

Cas. Good uight, honest lago. [E.ril. 

lago. And what's he then that says I play 
the villain ? 
When this advice is free I give and honest, 
Probal to thinking and indeed the course 
To win the Moor again ? For 'tis most easy 
The inclining Desdemona to subdue 
In any honest suit : she's framed as fruitful 
As the free elements. And then for her 
To win the Moor — were't to renounce his 

baptism, 
All seals and symbols of redeemed sin, 350 
His soul is so enfetter'd to her love. 
That she may make, unmake, do what she 

list, 
Even as her appetite shall play the god 
With his weak function. How am I then a 

villain 
To counsel Cassio to this ])arallel course. 
Directly to his good ? Divinity of hell ! 
When devils will the blackest sins put on. 
They do suggest at first with heavenly shows, 
As I do now : for whiles this hone.st fool 
Plies Desdemona to repair his fortunes 360 



hCENB t.] 



OTHELLO. 



797 



.And sb3 for him pleads strouglj- to the Moor, 
[Ml pour this pestilence into his ear, 
That she repeals him for her body's lust ; 
And by how much she strives to do him good, 
She shall undo her credit with the Moor. 
So will 1 turn her virtue into pitch. 
And out of lier own goodness make the net 
That shall enmesh them all. 

Re-enter Rodekigo. 

How now, Roderigo ! 
liotl. I do follow here iu tlie chase, not like 
a hound that hunts, but one that fills uj) the 
cry. My money is almost spent ; 1 have been 
to-niglit exceedingly well cudgelled ; and I 
think tlie issue will be, I shall have so nuicii 
e.vperieuce for my pains, and so, with no 
jnoney at all and a little more wit, return 
again to Venice. 
Jtitjo. How poor are they that have not pa- 
tience ! 
What wound did ever heal but by degrees ? 
Thou kuow'st we work by wit, and not by 

witchcraft ; 
And wit depends on dilatory time. 
Does't not go well ? Cassio hath beaten thee, 
And tliou, by that small hurt, hast cashier'd 
fassio : 381 

Tliough other things grow fair against the 

sun, 
Yet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe : 
Content thyself awhile, liy the mass, 'tis 

morning ; 
ricasiire and action make the hours seem 

short. 
Uctii'e thee ; go where thou art billeted : 
Awav, I sav ; thou shalt know more here- 
after : 
Nay, get thee gone. [Erit Roderiyo.'] Two 

things are to be done : 
My wife must move for Cassio to her mis- 
tress ; 
I'll afit her on ; 390 

Myself the while to draw the Moor apart. 
And bring him jump when he may Cassio 

find 
Soliciting his wife : ay, that's the way : 
Dull not device by coldness ami delay. [_Exit, 



ACT III. 

Scene I. Before the castle. 

FMter Cassio and some Musicians. 

Can. Mastei-s, play here ; I will content 
your ]iains ; 
Something that's brief ; and bid ' Good mor- 
row, general.' [Miisic. 

Enter Clown. 

Clo. Why, masters, have your instruments 
been in Naples, that they speak i' , the nose 
thus? 

First Mus. How, sir, how t 



Clo. Are these, I pray you, wind-instru- 
ments ? 

First Mu.'i. Ay, marry, are they, sir. 

Clo. O, thereby bang.s a tail. 

First Mus. Whereby hangs a tale, sir ? 9 

Clo. Marry, sir, by niauj' a wind-instru- 
ment that 1 know. but, masters, here's 
money for you : and the general so likes 
your music, that he desires yon, for love's 
sake, to make no more noise with it. 

First Mus. Well, sir, we will not. 

Clo. If you have any music that may not 
be heard, to't again : but, as they say, to 
hear music the general does not greatly care. 

First Mus. We have none such, sir. 

Clo. Then put u\) your pijies in your bag, 

for I'll away : go ; vanish into air ; away ! 21 

[Exeunt Musicians, 

Cas. Dost thou hear, my honest friend ? 

Clo. No, I hear not your honest friend ; I 
hear you. 

Cas. Prithee, keep up thy quillets. There's 
a poor piece of gold for thee : if the gentle- 
woman that attends the general's wife be 
stirring, tell her there's one Cassio entreats 
her a little favor of speech : wilt thou do this ? 

Clo. She is stirring, sir : if she will .stir 
hither, I shall seem to notify nnto her. 31 

Cas. Do, good my friend. [Exit Clown. 

Enter Iago. 

In happy time, lago. 
lago. You have not been a-bed, then ? 
Cas. Why, no ; the day had broke 
Before we parted. I have made bold, lago, 
To send in to your wife : my siiit to her 
Is, that she will to virtuous Desdemona 
Procure me some access. 

lar/o. I'll send lier to you pi-esently ; 

And I'll devise a mean to draw the Moor 
Out of the way, that your converse and busi- 
ness 
May be more free. 41 

Cas. I humbly thank you for't. [Exit lago.] 
I never knew 
A Florentine more kind and honest. 

Filter Emilia. 

Emil. Good morrow, good lieutenant : I 

am sorry 
For your displeasure ; but all will sure be 

well. 
The general and his wife are talking of it ; 
And she speaks for you stoutly : the Moor 

replies. 
That lie you hurt is of great fame in Cyprus, 
And great affinity, and that in wholesome 

wisdom 
He might not but refuse you; but he protests 

he loves you 50 

And needs no other suitor but his likings 
To take the safest occasion by the front 
To bring you in again. 

Cas. Yet, I beseech you, 

If you think fit, or that it may be done. 
Give me advaufcige of some brief discourM 



798 



OTHELLO. 



lACT III. 



Witli Desdemona alone. 

Emil. Pray you, come in ; 

I will bestow you where you shall have time 
To speak your bosom freely. 

Cas. I am much bound to you. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. A room in the castle. 

Enter Othello, Iago, and Gentlemen. 

0th. These letters give, Iago, to the pilot ; 
And by him do ray duties to the senate : 
riiiit done, I will be walking on the works ; 
Repair there to nie. 
Iago. Well, my good lord, I'll do't. 

0th. This fortification, gentlemen, shall we 

see't? 
Gent. We'll wait upon your lordship. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene III. The garden of the castle. 
Enter Desdemona, Cassio, and Emilia. 

Des. Be thou assured, good Cassio, I will 
do 
All my abilities in thy behalf. 
Emil. Good madam, do : I warrant it 
grieves my husband, 
As if the case were his. 

Des. O, that's an honest fellow. Do not 
doubt, Cassio, 
But I will have my lord and you again 
As friendly as you were. 

Cas. Bounteous madam, 

Whatever shall become of Michael Cassio, 
He's never any thing but your true servant. 
Des. I know't ; Ithank you. You do love 
my lord : 10 

You have known him long ; and be you well 

assured 
He shall in strangeness stand no further off 
Than in a politic distance. 

Cas. Ay, but, lady, 

Tliat policy may either last so long, 
Or feed upon such nice and waterish diet. 
Or breed itself so out of circumstance. 
That, 1 being absent and my place supplied. 
My general will forget my love and service. 
Des. Do not doubt tliat ; before Emilia 
here 
I give thee warrant of thy place : assure thee, 
If I do vow a friendship, I'll perforin it 21 
To the last article : my lord shall never rest ; 
I'll watch him tame and talk him out of pa- 
tience ; 
His bed shall seem a school, his board a 

shrift ; 
I'll intermingle everything he does 
With Cassio's suit : therefore be merry, Cas- 
sio ; 
For thy solicitor shall rather die 
Than give thy cause away. 

Emil. Madam, here comes my lord. 
Cas. Madam, I'il take my leave. 30 

Pes. Why, stay, and hear me speak. 
Cas. Madam, not now : 1 am very ill at 
eaae, 



Unfit for mine own purposes. 
Des. Well, do your discretion. [Exit Cassio. 

Enter Othello and Iago. 

luQO. Ha ! I like not that. 

Oih. What dost thou say ? 

Iago. Nothing, my lord : or if — 1 know not 
what. 

0th. Was not that Cassio parted from my 
wife ? 

Iago. Cassio, my lord ! No, sure, I caunot 
think it. 
That he would steal away so guilty -like. 
Seeing you comhig. 

0th. ' I do believe 'twas he. 40 

Des. How now, my lord ! 
I have beeu talking witli a suitor here, 
A man that languishes in your displeasure. 

0th. Who is't you mean ? 

Des. Why, your lieutenant, Cassio. Good 
my lord. 
If I have any grace or power to move you, 
His present reconciliation take ; 
For if he be not one that truly loves you, 
That errs in ignorance and not in cunning, 
I have no judgment in an honest face : 50 
I prithee, call him back. 

0th. Went he hence now ? 

Des. Ay, sooth ; so humbled 
That he hath left part of his grief with me, 
To suffer with him. Good love, call him back. 

0th. Not now, sweet Desdemona ; some 
other time. 

Des. But shan't be shortly ? 

0th. The sooner, sweet, for you. 

Des. Shairt be to-night at supper ? 

0th. No, not to-night. 

Des. To-morrow dinner, then ? 

0th. 1 shall not dine at home ; 

I meet the captains at the citadel. 

Des. Why, then, to-morrow night ; or Tues- 
day morn ; (iO 
On Tuesday noon, or night ; on Wednesday 

morn : 
I pritliee, name the time, but let it not 
Exceed three days : in faith, he's penitent ; 
And yet his trespass, in our common reason — 
Save that, they say, the wars must make ex- 
amples . 
Out of their best — is not almost a fault 
To iucur a private check. When shall he 

come ? 
Tell me, Othello : I wonder in my soul. 
What you would ask me, that I should deny. 
Or stand so mammering on. What ! Michael 
i.^assio, 70 

That came a-wooing with you, and so many a 

time, 
When 1 have spoke of you dispraisingly. 
Hath ta'en your part ; to have so much to do 
Tobringliimin ! Trust me, I could do much, — 

0th. Prithee, no more : let him come wiieu 
he will ; 
I vcill deny thee uothing. 

Dps. Why, this is not a boon ; 

'Tis as I should entreat you wear your gloves, 



I 



Scene ni.] 



OTHELLO. 



799 



Or feed on uoiirisliing dishes, or keep you 

wiirni. 
Or sue to you to do a peculiar profit 
To your own person : nay, when I have a suit 
Wherein I mean to touch your love indeed, 81 
It shall be lull of poise and difficult weight 
And fearful to be granted. 

0th. I will deny thee nothing . 

Whereon, I do beseech thee, grant me this, 
To leave me but a little to myself. 
Des. Shall I deny you ? no : farewell, my 

lord. 
0th. Farewell, my Desdemona: I'll come 

to thee straight. 
Des. Emilia, come. Be as your fancies 
teach you ; 
Wliate'er you be, I am obedient. 

[Eyernit Desdemona and Emilia. 
0th. Excellent wretch ! Perdition catch 
my soul, 90 

But I do love thee ! and when I love thee not, 
Chaos is come again. 
lago. My noble lord, — 
Oih. What dost thou say, lago ? 

lucjo. Did Michael Cassio, when you woo'd 
my lady. 
Know of your love ? 

0th. He did, from first to last: why dost 

thou ask ? 
/ar/o. But for a satisfaction of my thought ; 
No further harm. 

0th. Why of thy thought, lago ? 

/rt.f/o. I did not think he had been acquaint- 
ed with her. 
0th. 0, yes ; and went between us very oft. 
lafio. Indeed 1 101 

Oili. Indeed ! ay, hideed : discern'st thou 
aught in that ? 
Is he not honest ? 
lago. Honest, my lord ! 

0th. Honest ! ay, honest. 

lago. My lord, for aught I know. 
Oih. What do.st thou think ? 
lago. Think, my lord ! 

0th. Think my lord ! 

By heaven, he echoes me, 
As if there were some monster in his tliought 
Too hideous to be shown. Thou dost mean 

something : 
I heard thee say even now, thou likedst not 

that. 
When Cassio left my wife : what didst not 
like ? 110 

And when I told thee he was of my counsel 
In my wliole course of wooing, thou criedst 
' Indeed ! ' [gether, 

And didst contract and purse thy brow to- 
As if thou then liadst shut up in tliy brain 
Some horrible conceit : if thou dost love me, 
Show me thy thought. 
lago. My lord, you know I love you. 
0th. I think thou do.st ; 

A.nd, for I know thou *rt full of love and hon- 
esty. 
And « eigh'st tliy words before thou givest 
thftni bissto. 



Therefore the.se stops of thine fright me tlie 
more : 120 

For such things in a false disloyal knave 
Are tricks of custom, but in a man that's just 
They are close delations, working from tlie 

heart 
Tliat passion cannot rule. 

lago. For Michael Cassio, 

I daie be sworn I think that he is honest. 
0th. I think so too. 

lago. Men should be what they seem ; 

Or tliose that be not, would they might seem 
none ! 
0th. Certain, men should be what they 

seem. 
lufjo. Why, then, I think Cassio's an honest 

man. 
0th. Nay, yet there's more in this : 130 
I prithee, speak to me as to thy thinkings. 
As thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of 

thoughts 
The worst of words. 

lago. Good ray lord, pardon me : 

Though I am bound to every act of duty, 
I am not bound to that all slaves are free to. 
Utter my thoughts ? Why, say they are vile 

and false ; 
As Where's that palace whereinto foul things 
Sometimes intrude not? who has a breast so 

pure, 
But some uncleanly apprehensions 
Keep leets and law-days and in session sit 140 
With meditations lawful ? 
0th. Thou dost conspire against thy friend, 
lago, [his ear 

If thou but think'st him wrong'dand makest 
A stranger to thy thoughts. 

lago. I do beseech you — 

Though I perchance am vicious in my guess, 
As, I confess, it is my nature's plague 
To spy into abuses, and oft my jealon.sy 
Shapes faults that are not— that your wisdom 

yet, 

From one that so imperfectlj'^ conceits. 
Would take no notice, nor build yourself a 
trouble 150 

Out of his scattering and unsure observance. 
It were not for your quiet nor your good, 
Nor for my manhood, honesty, or wisdom. 
To let you know my thoughts. 

0th. What do.st thou mean ? 

lago. Good name in man and woman, dear 
my lord, 
Is the immediate jewel of their souls : 
AVho steals my (nirse steals trash ; 'tis some- 
thing, nothing ; 
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to 

thousands ; 
But he that filches from me my good name 
Robs me of that which not enriches him 160 
And makes me poor indeed. 

0th. By heaven, I'll know thy thoughts. 
lago. You cannot, if my heart were In you* 
hand ; 
Nor sliall not, whilst 'tis in my custody. 
Oth. Hal 



800 



OTHELLO 



[Act nr. 



lago. 0, beware, my lord, of jealousy ; 

It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock 
The meat it feeds on ; that cuckold lives in bliss 
Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger; 
But, O, what damned minutes tells he o'er 
Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet stronglv 

loves ! 170 

(Mil. O misery ! 
lago. Poor and content is rich and ricn 

enough. 
But riches lineless is as poor as winter 
To him that ever fears he shall be poor. 
Good heaven, the souls of all my tribe defend 
From jealousy ! 

0th. Why, why is this ? 

Thiuk'st thou I'M make a life of jealousy, 
To follow still the changes of the moon 
With fresh suspicions ? No ; to be once in 

doubt 
Is once to be resolved : exchange me for a goat. 
When I shall turn the business of my soul 181 
To such exsufflicate and blown surmises, 
Matching thy inference. 'Tis not to make me 

jealous [pany. 

To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves com- 
Is free of speech, sings, plays and dances well ; 
Where virtue is, these are more virtuous : 
Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw 
Tlie smallest fear or doubt of her revolt ; 
For she had eyes, and chose me. No, lago ; 
I'll see before'l doubt ; when I doubt, prove ; 
And on the proof, there is no more but this, — 
Away at once with love or jealousy ! 
layo. I am glad of it ; for now I shall have 

reason 
To show the love and duty that I bear you 
With franker spirit : therefore, as I am bound, 
Receive it from me. I speak not yet of proof. 
Look to your wife ; observe her well with 

Cassio ; 
Wear your eye thus, not jealous nor secure : 
I would not have your free and noble nature, 
Out of self-bounty, be abused ; loolv to't : 200 
I know our country disposition well ; 
In Venice they do let heaven see the pranks 
They dare not show their husbands ; their best 

conscience 
Is not to leave 't undone, but keep't unknown. 
0th. Dost thou say so ? 
lago. She did deceive her father, marrying 

you ; 
And when she seera'd to shake and fear your 

looks. 
She loved them most. 

0th. And so she did. 

lago. Why, go to then ; 

She that, so young, could give out such a 

seeming, 
To seal her father's eyes up close as oak — 210 
He thought 'twas witchcraft — but I am much 

to blame ; 
I humbly do beseech you of your pardon 
For too much loving you. 

0th. I am bound to thee for ever. 

lago. I see this hath a little dash'd your 

apirita. 



Otlu Not a jot, not a jot. 
lago. r faith, I fear it has. 

T hope you will consider what is spoke 
Comes from my love. But I do see you're 

moved : 
I am to pray you not to strain my speech 
To grosser issues nor to larger reacli 
Thau to suspicion. 220 

0th. I will not. 

lago. Should you do so, my lord, 

My speech should fall into such vile success 
As my tl)ou;4hts aim not at. Cassio's my worthy 

friend — 
My lord, I see you're moved. 

0th. No, not much moved : 

I do not think but Desderaona's honest. 
lago. Long live she so ! and long live you 

to think so ! 
0th. And yet, how nature erring from it- 

self,~ 
lago. Ay, there's the point: as — to be bold 
with you — 
Not to affect many proposed matches 229 

(H her own clime, complexion, and degree. 
Whereto we see in all things nature tends — 
Fob ! one may smell in such a will most rank, 
Foul disproportion, thougiits unnatural. 
But pardon me ; 1 do not in position 
Distinctly speak of her ; though I may fear 
Her will, recoiling to her better judgment. 
May fall to match you with her country forms 
And happily repent. 

Olh. Farewell, farewell : 

If more thou dost perceive, let me know more; 
Set on thy wife to observe : leave me, lago. 
lago. [Going] My lord, I take my leave. 
Oih. Why did I marry ? This honest crea- 
ture doubtless 
Sees and knows more, much more, than he 
unfolds. 
lago. {Retiirningi My lord, I would I might 
entreat your honor 
To scan this thing no further; leave it to time: 
Though it be fit that Cassio have his place, 
For sure, he fills it up with great ability. 
Yet, if you please to hold him off awhile. 
You shall by that perceive him and his means: 
Note, if your lady strain his entertainment 
With any strong or vehement importunity; 251 
Much will be seen in that. In the mean time, 
Let me be thought too busy in my fears — 
As worthy cause I have to fear I am — 
And hold her free, I do beseech your honor. 
Olh. Fear not my government. 
lago, I once more take my leave. [Exit 
Olh. This fellow's of exceeding honesty, 
And knows all qualities, with a learned si)irit, 
Of human dealings. If I do prove her hag- 
gard, 26f 
Though that her jesses were my dear heart- 

.strings, 
rid whistle her off and let her down the wind 
To pray at fortune. Haply, for I am black 
And have not those soft parts of conversation 
Tliat chamberers have, or for I am declined 
Into the vale of years, — yet thai's not much- 



SCEWB Itl.] 



OT HELLO. 



801 



Bhe's gone. I am abused ; and my relief 
uliist be to loathe lier. O curse of marriage, 
That we can call these delicate creahires ours, 
A.nd not their appetites ! I had rather be a 

toad, 270 

And live upon the vapor of a dungeon, 
Than keep a corner in the thing I love 
Tor others' uses. Yet, 'tis the plague of great 

ones ; 
Prerogatived are they less than the base ; 
'Tis destiny unshunnable, lilve death : 
Even then tliis forked plague is fated to U3 
When we do quicken. Desdemoua comes : 

Re-enter Desdemona and Emilia. 
If she be false, O, then heaven mocks itself ! 
I'll not believe 't. 

Des. llow now, my dear Othello I 

Your dinner, and the generous islanders 280 
By you invited, do attend your presence. 
Olh. I am to blame. 

Des. Why do you speak so faintly? 

Are you not well ? 
0th. I have a pain upon my forehead here. 
Des. 'Faith, that's with watching ; 'twill 
away again : 
Let me but bind it hard, within this iiour 
It will be well. 

0th. Your napkin is too little : 

\_He puts the handkerchief from him ; and 

it drops. 

Let it alone. Come, I'll go in with you. 

Des. 1 am very sorry that you are not well. 

[Exeunt Othello and Desdemona. 

Emil. I am ghid I have found this napkin: 

This wa.s her first remembrance from the Moor: 

My way ward husband hath a hundred times 

Woo'd me to steal it ; but she so loves the 

token. 
For lie conjured her she should ever keep it, 
That she reserves it evermore about her 
To kiss and talk to. I'll have the work ta'en 

out. 
And give 't lago : what he will do with it 
Heaven knows, not I ; 
I nothing but to jilease his fantasy. 

Re-enter Iago. 

lago. How now! wliat do you here alone ? 

Emil. Do not you chide ; I have a thing for 

yon. 301 

layo. A thing for me ? it is a common 

thiuu— 
Emil. Ha I 

Iago. To have a foolish wife. 
Emil. O, is that all ? What will you give 
me now 
Ear the same handkerchief ? 
Iago. What handkerchief ? 

Emil. What handkerchief ? 
Why, that the Moor first gave to Desdemona; 
That which so often you did bid me steal. 
Iago. Hast .'jtoFn it from her ? 310 

Emil. No, 'faith ; she let it drop by negli- 
gence, 
Andjto the advantage, I, being here,took 't up. 



Look, here it is. 

Iago. A good wench ; give it me. 

Emil. What will you do with t, that you 
have been so earnest 
To have me filch it ? 

layo. [Snutdiiny it^ Wlij-, what's that to 
you ? 

Emil. If it be not for some purpose of im- 
port. 
Give 't me again : poor lady, slie'll run mad 
When she shall lack it. 

Iago. Be not acknowu on 't ; I have use 
for it. 
Go, leave me. [Exit Emilia. 320 

1 will in Cassio's lodginff lose this napkin, 
And let him find it. Trifles liglit as air 
Are to the jealous conftrmatious strong 
As proofs of holy writ ; this may do something. 
The Moor already changes with my ix)ison : 
Dangerous conceits ?re, in their natures, poi- 
sons, 
Which at the first ar >, scarce found to distaste, 
But with a little act upon the blood. 
Burn like the mines of sulphur. I did say so: 
Look, where he comes J 

Re-enter Othello. 

Not poppy, nor mandragora, 330 
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world. 
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep 
Which thou owedst yesterday. 

0th. Ha ! ha ! false to me ? 

Iago. Why, how now, general ! no more of 
that. 

0th. Avaunt ! be gone ! tliou hast set me 
on the rack : 
I swear 'tis better to be much abused 
Than but to know 't a little. 

Iago. How now, my lord ! 

Oih. What sense had I of her stol'n hours 
of lust ? 
I saw 't not, thought it not, it harm'd not me: 
I slept the next night well, was free and merry; 
I found not Cassio's kisses on her lips: 341 
He that is robb'd, not wanting what is stol'n. 
Let him not know 't, and he's not robb'd at all. 

Iago. 1 am sorry to hear this. 

Oili. I had been hapiiy, if the general camp, 
Pioners and all, had tasted lier sweet body, 
So 1 had nothing known. O, now, for ever 
Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content! 
Farewell the plumed troop, and tlie big wars, 
That make ambition virtue ! O, farewell ! 350 
Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill 

trump, 
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, 
The royal banner, and all quality, 
Pride, pomp and circumstance of glorious war! 
And. you mortal engines, whose rude throats 
The immortal .love's dead clamors counterfeit. 
Farewell ! Othello's occupation 's gone ! 

Iago. Is 't possible, my lord ? 

oih. Villain, be sure thou prove my love a 
whore. 
Be sure of it ; give me the ocular proof t 360 
Or by the worth of man's eternal eonl, 
51 



802 



OTHELLO. 



[Act ni.j 



Thou hadst been better have been born a dog 
Than answer my waked wrath ! 

lago. Is't come to this ? 

0th. Make me to see't ; or, at the least, so 
prove it, 
That the probation bear no hinge nor loop 
To hang a doubt on ; or woe upon thy life ! 

lago. My no Die lord, — 

0th. If thou dost slander her and torture 
me. 
Never pray more ; abandon all remorse ; 
On horror's head horrors accumulate ; 370 
Do deeds to make heaven weep, all earth 

amazed ; 
For nothing canst thou to damnation add 
Greater than that. 

lago. grace ! heaven forgive me! 

Are you a man ? have you a soul or sense ? 
God be wi' vou ; take mine office. O wretched 

fool, ' 
That livest to make thine honesty a vice ! 

monstrous world 1 Take note, take note, 

world. 
To be direct and honest is not safe. 

1 thank you for this profit ; and from hence 
I'll love no friend, sith love breeds such offence. 

0th. Nay, stay : thou shouldst be honest. 

lago. I should be wise, for honesty's a fool 
And loses that it works for. 

0th. By the world, 

I think my wife be honest and think she is not; 
I think that thou art just and tiiink thou art 

not. 
I'll have some proof. Her name, that was as 

fresh 
As Dian's visage, is now begrimed and black 
As mine own face. If there be cords, or knives, 
Poison, or fire, or suffocating streams, 
I'll not endure it. Would I were satisfied ! 390 

lago. I see, sir, you are eaten up with pas- 
sion : 
I do repent me that I put it to you. 
You would be satisfied ? 

0th. "Would ! nay, I will. 

lago. And may : but, how ? how satisfied, 
my lord ? 
Would you, the supervisor, grossly gape on — 
Behold her topp'd ? 

0th. Death and damnation ! O ! 

lago. It were a tedious difficulty, I think, 
To bring them to that prospect : damn them 

then. 
If ever mortal eyes do see them bolster 
More than their own ! What then ? how then? 
What shall I say ? Where's satisfaction ? 401 
It is impossible you should see this. 
Were they as prime as goats, as hot as mon- 



As salt as wolves in pride, and fools as gross 
As ignorance made drunk. But yet, I say, 
If imputation and strong circumstances. 
Which lead directly to the door of truth, 
Will give you satisfaction, you may have 't. 

Oth. Give me a living reason she's disloyal. 

lago. I do not like the office : 410 

tf at, aith I uu «ater'd in thia cause so far, 



Prick'd to 't by foolish honesty and love, 

I will go on. I lay with Cassio lately; 

And, being troubled with a raging tooth, 

I could not sleep. 

There are a kind of men so loose of soul. 

That in their sleeps will nuitter their affairs: 

One of this kind is Cassio : 

In sleep I heard him say ' Sweet Desdemona, 

Let us be wary, let us hide our loves ; ' 420 

And then, sir, would he gripe and wring my 

hand. 
Cry ' O sweet creature ! ' and then kiss me 

hard. 
As if he pluck'd up kisses by the roots 
That grew upon my lips : then laid his leg 
Over my thigh, and sigh'd, and kiss'd ; and 

then 
Cried ' Cursed fate that gave thee to the 
Moor ! ' 
Oth. O monstrous ! monstrous ! 
lago. Nay, this was but his dream. 

Oth. But this denoted a foregone cou' 
elusion : 
'Tis a shrewd doubt, though it be but a dream. 
lago. And this may help to thicken other 
proofs 43C 

That do demonstrate thinly. 

Oth. I'll tear her all to pieces. 

lago. Nay, but be wise : yet we see uoth» 
ing done ; 
She may be honest yet. Tell me but this, 
Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief 
Spotted with strawberries in your wife's hand 5 
Oth. I gave her such a one ; 'twas my first 

gift. 
lago. I know not that ; but such a hand- 
kerchief — 
I am sure it was your wife's — did I to-day 
See Cassio wipe his beard with. 

Oth. If it be that,— 

lago. If it be that, or any that was hers, 440 
It speaks against her witli the other proofs. 
Oth. 0, that the slave had forty thousand 
lives ! 
One is too poor, too weak for my revenge. 
Now do I see 'tis true. Look here, lago ; 
All my foud love thus do I blow to heaven. 
'Tis gone. 

Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell ! 
Yield up, love, thy crown and hearted throne 
To tyrannous hate ! Swell, bosom, with thy 

fraught. 
For 'tis of aspics' tongues ! 
laqo. Yet be content. 450 

Oth. O, blood, blood, blood ! 
lago. Patience, I say; your mind perhaps 

may change. 
Oth. Never, lago. Like to the Pontic sea, 
Whose icy current and compulsive course 
Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on 
To the Propontic and the Hellespont, 
Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent 

pace. 
Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble 

love, 
TiU that a c-ipable and wide revenge 



SCKNE tV.] 



OTHELLO. 



803 



Swallow them up. Now, by jond marble 
lieaveu, 4(i0 

[Kneels] lu the due reverence of a sacred vow 
1 here eugage my words. 

lugo. Do not rise yet. 

[Kneels] Witness, you ever-buruiug lights 

above, 
You elements that clip us round about, 
Witness that here lago doth give up 
The e.xecution of his wit, hands, heart. 
To wrong'd Othello's service ! Let him com- 
mand, 
And to obey shall be in me remorse. 
What bloody business ever. [TJiey rise. 

Olh. I greet tliy love, 

Not with vain thanks, but with acceptance 
bounteous, 470 

And will ui)on the instant put thee to't : 
Within these three days let me hear thee say 
That Cassio's not alive. 
lacfo. My friend is dead ; 'tis done at your 
request : 
But let her live. 

0th. Damn her, lewd minx ! O, damn her ! 
Come, go with me apart ; I will withdraw. 
To furnish me with some swift means of death 
For the lair devil. Now art thou my lieuten- 
ant. 
lago. I am your own for ever. [Kxeant. 

Scene IV. Before the castle. 
Enter Desdemona, Emilia, and Clown. 

Des. Do you know, sirrah, where Lieuten- 
ant Cassio lies ? 

Clo. I dare not say he lies any where. 

Des. Why, man ? 

Clo He's a soldier, and for one to say a 
soldier lies, is stabbing. 

Des. Go to ; where lodges he ? 

Clo. To tell you where he lodges, is to tell 
you where I lie. 

Des. Can any thing be made of this? 10 

Clo. I know not where he lodges, and for 
me to devise a lodging and say he lies here or 
he lies there, were to lie in mine own throat. 

Des. Can you inquire him out, and be edi- 
fied by report ? 

Clo. I will catechize the world for him ; 
that is, make questions, and by them answer. 

Des. Seek him, bid him come hither : tell 
him I have moved my lord on his behalf, and 
hope all will be well. 20 

Clo. To do this is within the compass of 
iiian's wit : and therefore I will attemjit tlie 
doing it. [Exit. 

Des. Where should I lose that handker- 
chief, Emilia ? 

Emil. I know not, madam. 

Des. Believe me, I had rather have lost my 
purse 
Full of crusadoes : and, but my noble Moor 
Is true of mind and made of no such base- 
ness 
As jealous creatures are. it were euougli 
To put him to ill thinkiug. 



Emil. Is he not jealous ? 

Des. Who, he ? I think the sun where he 
was born 30 

Drew all such humors from him 

Emil. Look, where becomes. 

Des. I will not leave him now till Cassio 
Be call'd to him. 

Enter Othello. 

How is't with you, my lord ? 

0th. Well, my good lady, [Aside] O, hard- 
ness to dissemble ! — 
How do you, Desdemoua ? 

Des. Well, my good lord . 

0^^. Give me your hand : tins baud is 
moist, my lady. 

Des. It yet hath felt no age nor known no 
sorrow. 

0th. This argues fruitfulucss and liberal 



heart 



i^quires 



Hot, hot, and moist : this h;ind of yours re- 
A sequester from liberty, fa>ting and prayer, 
Much castigatiou, exercise devout, ; 41 

For here's a young and swcjiting devil here, 
Tliat comnumly rebels. 'Tis a good hand, 
A frank one. 

Des. You mny. indeed, say so ; 

For 'twas tlint iiand'that gave iiw.iy my heart. 

Otii. A liberal hand : the hearts of old gave 
hands : 
But our new heraldry is hands, nothearts. 

Des. I cauiiot speak of this. Couk-. now, 
your luoniise. 

0th. What promise, chuclc ? 

Des. I have sent to bid Cassio come spa^k 
with you. M 

0th. I have a salt and sorry rheiim oITcuc s 
me ; 
Lend me thy handkerchief. 

Des. " Here, my lord. 

0th. That which I gave yon. 

Des. I have it not about me. 

0th. Not? 

Des. No, indeed, mv lord. 

0th. " That is a fault. 

That handkerchief 
Did an Egyptian to my mother give ; 
She was a charmer, and could almost re.'id 
Tlie thoughts of people : she told her, while 

she kept it, 
'Twould make her amiable and "subdue my 

father 
Entirely to her love, but if she lost it CO 

Or made a gift of it, my father's eye 
Should hold her loathed and his spirits should 

hunt 
After new fancies : she, dying, gave it me ; 
And bid me, when my fate would have me 

wive, 
To give it her. I did so : and take heed on't ; 
Make it a darling lili.e your jirecious eye ; 
To lose 't or give 't away were such i)erdition 
Aa nothing else could match. 

Des. Is 't possible "^ 

Oth. 'Tis true : there's magic in the web of 
it; 



804 



OTHELLO. 



[Act nil 



A sibyl, th.it had nnmber'd in the world 70 
The sun to course two hundred compasses, 
In her prophetic fury sew'd the work ; 
The worms were hailow'd that did breed the 

silk ; 
And it was dj-ed in mummy which the skilful 
Conserved of maidens' hearts. 

Des. Indeed ! is't true ? 

0th. Most veritable ; therefore look to 't 
well. 

Des. Then would to God that I had never 
seen *t ! 

0th. Ha ! wherefore ? 

Des. Why do j^ou s])eak so startingly and 
rash ? 

0th. Is 't lost ? is 't gone ? speak, is it out 
o' the way ? 80 

Des. Heaven bless us ! 

0th. Say you ? 

Des. It is iiot lost ; but what an if it were ? 

0th. How ! 

Des. I say, it is not lost. 

0th. " Fetch 't, let me see 't. 

Des. Why, so I can, sir, but I will not now. 
This is a trick to put me from mj' suit : 
Pray you, let Cassio be received again. 

0th. Fetch me the handkerchief : my mind 
misgives. 

Des. Come, come ; 90 

You'll never meet a more sufficient man. 

0th. The handkerchief ! 

Des. I pray, talk me of Cassio. 

0th. The handkerchief ! 

Des. A man that all his time 

Kath founded his good fortunes on your love, 
Shared dangers with you, — 

0th. Tlie handkerchief ! 

Des. In sooth, yon are to blame. 

0th. ■ Away ! {Exit. 

Emil. Is not this man jealous ? 

Des. I ne'er saw this before. 100 

Sure, there's some wonder in this handker- 
chief : 
I am most unhappy in the loss of it. 

Emil. 'Tis not a year or two shows us a 
man : 
They are all but stomachs, and we all but 

food ; 
To eat us hungerly, and when they are full, 
They belch us. Look you, Cassio and my 
husband ! 

Enter Cassio and Iago. 

lago. There is no other way ; 'tis she must 
do't: 
And, lo, the happiness! go, and importune her. 
Des. How now, good Cassio ! what 's the 

news with you ? 
Ccis. Madam, my former suit : I do beseech 
you 110 

That by your virtuous means I may again 
Exist, and he a member of his love 
Whom I with all the office of my heart 
Entirely honor : I would not be delay'd. 
If my offence be of such mortal kind 
That nor my service past, nor present sorrows. 



Nor purposed merit in futurity, 

Can ransom me into his love again, 

But to know so must be my benefit ; 

So shall I clothe me iu a forced content, 120 

And shut myself up in some other course, 

To fortune's alms. 

Des. Alas, thrice-gentle Cassio ! 

My advocation is not now in tune ; 
My lord is not my lord ; nor s! onld I know 

him. 
Were he in favor as in humor alter'd. 
So help me every spirit sanctified, 
As I have spoken for you all my best 
And stood within the blank of his displeasure 
For my free speech ! you must awhile be 

patient : 
What I can do I will ; and more I will 130 

Than for myself I dare : let that suffice you. 
lacjo. Is my lord angry ? 
Emil. He went hence but now, 

And certainly in strange unquietness. 
layo. Can he be angry ? I have seen the 
cannon. 
When it hath blown his ranks into the air. 
And, like the devil, from his very arm 
Puff'd his own brother : — and can he be angry? 
Something of moment then : I will go meet 

him : 
There's matter in 't indeed, if he be angry. 
Des. I prithee, do so. {Exit Iago. 

Something, sure, of sfcite, 140 
Either from Venice, or some unhatch'd prac- 
tice 
Made demonstrable here in Cyprus to him. 
Hath puddled his clear spirit : and in such 

cases 
Men's natures wrangle with inferior things. 
Though great ones are their object. 'Tis even 

so ; 
For let our finger ache, and it indues 
Our other healthful members even to that 

sense 
Of pain : nay, we must think men are not gods, 
Nor of them look for such observances 
As fit the bridal. Beshrew me much, Emilia, 
I was, unhandsome warrior as I am, 151 

Arraigning his nnkindness with my soul ; 
But now I find I had suborn'd the witness, 
And he's indicted falsely. 
Emil. Pray heaven it be state-matters, as 
you think, 
And no conception nor no jealous toy 
Concerning you. 
Des. Alas the day ! I never gave him cause. 
Em,il. But jealous souls will not be answer'd 
so ; 
They are not ever jealous for the cause, 160 
But jealous for they are jealous : 'tis a mon- 
ster 
Begot upon itself, born on itself. 
Des. Heaven keep that monster from 

Othello's mind ! 
Emil. Lady, amen. 

Des. I will go seek him. Cassio, walk here- 
about : 
If I do find him fit, I'll move your suit 



Scene i.] 



OTHELLO. 



80f 



And seek to effect it to my uttermost. 
Cas- I hun.bly thank your ladyship. 

[Kre((/U Desdemona ami Emilia. 
Enter Biaxca. 
Bian. Save you, friend Cassio ! 
Cus. What make you from home ? 

How is it with you, my most fair Bianca ? 170 
[' faith, sweet love, I was coming to your 
house. 
Bian. i.nd I was going to your lodging, 
Cassio. 
What, i;eep a week away ? seven days and 
niglits ? [hours. 

Eight score eight hours ? and lovers' absent 
More tedious than the dial eight score times ? 

weary reckoning ! 

Cos. Pardon me, Bianca : 

1 have tliis while with leaden thoughts been 

jiress'd : 
But I shall, ill a more continuate time. 
Strike off this score of absence. Sweet Bianca, 
[Givint/ her Desdemona' s handkerchief. 
Take me this work out. 

Bian. O Cassio, whence came this ? 180 
This is some token from a newer friend : 
To the felt absence now I feel a cause : 
Is 't come to this ? Well, well. 

Cas. Go to, woman ! 

Throw your vile guesses in the devil's teeth. 
From whence you have them. You are jealous 

now 
That this is from some misti-ess, some remem- 
brance : 
No, in good troth, Bianca. 

Bian. Why, whose is it? 

Cas. I know not, sweet : I found it in my 
chamber. 
I like the work well : ere it be demanded — 
As like enough it will — I'ld have it coined : IflO 
Take it, and do 't ; and leave me for this time. 

Bian. Leave you ! wherefore ? 

Cas. I do attend here on the general ; 
And think it no addition, nor my wish, 
To have him see me woman'd. 

Bian. Why, I pray you ? 

Cas. Not that I love you not. 

Bian. But tliatyou do not love me. 

] pray you. bring me on the way a little, 
And say if I shall see you soou at night. 

Cas. ' 'Tis but a little way that I can bring 
you ; 
For I attend here : but I'll see you soon. 200 

Bian. 'Tis very good ; I must be circum- 
stanced. [Exeunt. 



ACT IV. 

Scene I. Cyirrus. Before the castle. 

Enter Othello arid Iago. 

laffo. Will you think so ? 
0th. Think so, Iago ! 

Iago. What, 

To kiss in private ? 
0th, An uuautUoiised kiss. 



Iago. Or to be naked with her friend in bed 
An hour or more, not meaning any harm ? 

0th. Naked in bed, Iago, and not mean 
harm ! 
It is hypocrisy against the devil : 
They that mean virtuously, and yet do so. 
The devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt 
heaven. 

Iago. So they do nothing, 'tis a venial slip : 
But if I give my wife a handkerchief, — 10 

0th. What then ? 

Iago. Why, then, 'tis hers, my lord ; and, 
being hers. 
She may, I think, hestow't on any man. 

0th. ' She is protectress of her honor too : 
May she give that? 

Iago. Her lionor is an essence that's not 
seen ; 
They have it very oft that have it not : 
But, for the handkerchief, — 

0th. By heaven, I would most gladly have 
forgot it. 
Thou said'st — O, it comes o'er my memory, 20 
As doth the raven o'er the infected house, 
Boding to all— he had my handkerchief. 

Ia(/o. Ay, what of that ? 

Oih. That's not so good now. 

Iago. What, 

If I had said I had seen him do you wrong ? 
Or heard him say, — as knaves be su(;h abroad, 
Who having, by their own importunate suit, 
Or voluntary dotage of some mistress. 
Convinced or supjilied them, canuot choose 
But they must blab — 

0th. Hath he said any thing ? 

Iago. He hath, my lord ; but be you well 
assured, 30 

No more than he'll unswear. 

0th. What hath he .said ? 

Iago. 'Faith, that he did — I know not what 
he did. 

0th. What ? what ? 

liigo. Lie — 

0th. With her ? 

Iago. AVith her, on her ; what yon will. 

oih. Lie with her ! lie on her! We say lie 
on lier, when they belie her. Lie with her ! 
that's fulsome.— Handkerchief — confessions — 
liaiulkerchief ! — To confess, and be hanged for 
his labor ; — first, to be hanged, and then to 
confess.— I tremble at it. Nature would not 
invest herself in such shadowing passion with- 
out some instruction. It is uot words that 
shake me thus. Pish ! Noses, ears, and lips. 
— Is't possible ?— Confess — handkerchief !— O 
devil ! [Falls in a trance. 

Iago. W^ork on-. 
My medicine, work 1 Thus credulous fools 

are caught ; 
And many worthy and chaste dames even thus, 
All guiltless, meet reproach. What, ho ! my 

lord ! 
My lord, I say ! Othello ! 

£nte»' Cassio. 

How uow, Caseio J 



806 



OTHELLO. 



[Act IV. 



Cas. What's the matter? 50 

lago. My lord is fall'ii into an epilepsy : 
This is his secoud fit ; he had one yesterday. 

Cas. Rab him about the temples. 

liujo. No, forbear ; 

The lethargy must have his quiet course : 
If not, he foams at mouth and by and by 
Breaks out to savage madness. Look, lie stirs : 
Do you withdraw yourself a little while, 
He will recover straight : when he is gone, 
1 would on great occasion speak with you. 59 

[Exit Cass to. 
How is it, general? have you not hurt your 
head ? 

0th. Dost thou mock me ? 

Icif/o. I mock you ! no, by heaven. 

Would you would bear your fortune like a man ! 

Olh. A horned man's a monster and a beast. 

larjo. There's many a beast then in a popu- 
lous cit,y. 
And manv a civil monster. 

0th. Did he confess it ? 

lat/o. Good sir, be a man ; 

Think every bearded fellow that's but yoked 
]\I:iy draw with you : there's millions now alive 
That nightly lie in those improper beds 
Which thev dare swear j)eculiar : your case is 
better. 70 

0, 'tis the spite of hell, the fiend's arch-mock, 
To lip a wanton in a secure couch. 
And to suppose her cliaste ! No, let me know ; 
And knowing what I am, I know what she 
shall be. 

Olh. 0, thou art wise ; 'tis certain. 

lar/o. Stand you awhile apart ; 

Confine yourself but in a ])atient list. 
AVhilstyou were here o'erwhelmed with your 

grief — 
A passion most uusuiting such a man — 
Cassio came hither : I shifted him away, 
And laid good 'sense upon your ecstasy, 80 
Bade him anon return and here speak with me; 
The which he promised. Do but encave your- 
' self, [scorns. 

And mark the fleers, the gibes, and notable 
That dwell in every region of his face ; 
For I will make him tell the tale anew. 
Where, how, how oft, how long ago, and when 
He hath, and is again to cope your wife : 
I say, but mark his gesture. Marry, patience; 
Or i shall say you are all in all in spleen, 
And nothing of a man. 

0th. Dost thou hear, lago ? 90 

t will be found most cunning in my patience ; 
But — dost thou hear ?— most bloody. 

lac/o. That's not amiss ; 

But yet keep time in all. Will you withdraw? 
[Othello retires. 
Now will I question Cassio of Bianca, 
A housewife that by selling her desires 
Buys herself bread and clothes : it is a creature 
That dotes on Cassio ; as 'tis the strumpet's 

plague 
To beg\iile many and be beguiled by one : 
He, when he hears of her, cannot refrain 99 
From the excess of laughter. Here he comes : 



Re-enter Cassio. 

As he shall smile, Othello shall go mad ; 
And his unbookish jealousy must construe 
Poor Cassio's smiles, gestures and light be- 
havior. 
Quite in the wrong. How do you now, lieu- 
tenant ? 

Cas. The worser that you give me the ad- 
dition 
Whose want even kills me. 

layo. Ply Desdemona well, and you are 
sure on't. 
[Speaking lower'] Now, if this suit lay in 

Bianca' 8 power. 
How quickly should you speed ! 

Cas. Alas, poor caitiff ! 

0th. Look, how he laughs already ! 110 

lago. I never knew woman love man so. 

Cas. Alas, poor rogue ! I think, i' faith, she 
loves me. 

0th. Now he denies it faintly, and laughs 
it out. 

lago. Do you hear, Cassio ? 

Olh. Now he importunes him 

To tell it o'er : go to ; well said, well said. 

layo. She gives it out that you shall marry 
her : 
Do you intend it ? 

CV/,s. Ha, ha, ha ! I'JO 

Olh. Do you triumph, Eoman ? do you 
triumph ? 

Cas. I marry her ! what ? a customer ! Pri- 
thee, bear some charity to my wit : do not 
think it so unwholesome. Ha, ha, ha! 

0th. So, so, so, so : they laugh that win. 

lago. 'Faith, the cry goes that you shall 
marry her. 

Cas. Prithee, say true. 

lago. I am a very villain else. 

Olh. Have you scored me ? Well. 130 

Gas. This is the monkey's own giving out : 
she is i)ersuaded L will marry her, out of her 
own love and flattery, not out of my promise. 

Olh. lago beckons me ; now he begins the 
story. 

Cas. She was here even now ; she haunta 
me in every place. I was the other day talk- 
ing on the sea-bank witli certain Venetians ; 
and thither comes the bauble, and, by this hand, 
she falls me thus about my neck — 140 

Olh. Crying ' dear Cassio ! ' as it were . 
his gesture imports it. 

Cas. So hangs, and lolls, and weeps upon 
me ; so hales, and pulls me : ha, ha, ha ! 

Olh. Now he tells how she plucked him to 
my chamber. O, I see that nose of yours, but 
not that dog I shall throw it to. 

Cas. Well, I must leave her company. 

lago. Before me ! look, where she comes. 

Cas. 'Tis such another fitchew ! marry, a 
perfumed one. 151 

Enter Bianca. 
What do you mean by this haunting of me ? 

Bian. Let the devil and his dam hannt you 
What did you mean by that same bandker* 



Scene i.j 



OTHELZO. 



807 



nhief you gave me eveu now ? I was a fine fool 
to take it. I must take out the work ? — A 
Lkely piece of work, that you should Sud it in 
your chamber, and not know who left it there ! 
This is some minx's token, and I must take out 
the work ? There ; give it your hobby-horse: 
wheresoever you had it, I'll take out no work 
on 'it. 161 

Cas. How now, my sweet Bianca ! how 
now ! how now ! [kerchief I 

0th. By heaven, that should be my hand- 

Bian. An you'll come to supper to-night, 
you may ; an you will not, come when you are 
next prepared for. [Exit. 

lago. After her, after her. 

Cas. 'Faith, I must ; she'll rail in the street 
else. 171 

logo. "Will you sup there ? 

Cas. 'Faith, I intend so. 

lago. Well, I may chance to see you ; for I 
would very fain speak with you. 

Cas. Pritliee, come ; will you ? 

lago. Go to ; say no more. [Exit Cassia. 

OHi. [Advancingi How shall I murder him, 
lairo ? 

laqo. Did you perceive bow he laughed at 
his vice ? 181 

Olh. O lago ! 

Iu(io. And did you ?-Qe the handkerchief ? 

Oih. Was that 'mine? 

lago. Yours by this hand : and to see how 
he prizes the foolish woman your wife ! she 
gave it him, and he hath given it his whore. 

0th. I would h.ave him nine years a-killing. 
A fine woman ! a fair woman ! a sweet woman ! 

lago. Nay, you must forget that. 190 

Olh. Ay, let her rot, and peri.sh, and be 
damned to-night ; for she shall not live : no, 
my heart is turned to stone ; I .'-tiiko it, and it 
hurts my hand. O, tlie world hath not a 
sweeter creature : she might lie by au empe- 
ror's side and command him tasks. 

lago. Nay, that's not your way. 

oih. Hang her ! I do but say what she is ; 
so delicate with her needle : au admirable 
musician : O ! she will sing the savageness out 
of a bear : of so high and plenteous wit and 
invention : — 201 

lago. She's the worse for all this. 

Olh. 0, a thousand tliousaud times : and 
then, of so gentle a condition ! 

lago. Ay, too gentle. 

Olh. Nay, that's cei tain : but yet the pity 
of it, lago ! O lago, the pity of it, lago ! 

lago. If you are so fond over her iniquity, 
give her i)atent to offend ; for, if it touch not 
you, it comes near nobody. 210 

Oth. I will chop her into messes : cuckold 
me 1 

lago. O, 'tis foul in her. 

Oth. With mine officer ! 

lago. That's fouler. 

Oth. Get me some poison, lago ; this night: 
I'll not expostulate with her, lest her body and 
beauty ujiprovide my miud again : th^s night, 
lago 2Vi 



lago. Do it not with poison, strangle her ift 
her bed, even the bed she hath contjuninated. 
Oth. Good, good : the justice of it pleases : 
very good. 

lago. And for Cassio, let me be his under- 
taker : you shall hear more by midnight. 
Oth. Excellent good. [A trumpet tcithin.] 

What trumpet is that same ? 
lago. Something from Venice, sure. 'Tis 
Lodovico 
Come froiu the duke : and, see, your wife is 
with Irim. 

Enter Lodovico, Desdemona, and Attend- 
ants. 
Lod. Save you, worthy general ! 
Oth. With all my heart, sir. 

Lod. The duke and senators of Venice greet 
you. [Gircs him a letter. 

Oth. I kiss the instrument of their pleasures. 
[Ope?rs the letter, and reads. 
Des. And what's the news, good cousin 

Lodovico ? 
lago. I am very glad to see you, signior ; 
Welcome to Cyprus. 

Lod. I thank you. How does Lieutenant 

Cassio ? 
lago. Lives, sir. 

Jv'es. Cousin, there's fall'nbetween him and 
my lord 
An unkind breach ; but you shall make all 
well. 
Olh. Are you sure of that ? 
fks. Jly lord ? 

Olh. [Brads] ' This fail you not to do, as 
you will — ' 240 

Lod. He did not call ; he's busy in the 
paper. 
Is there division 'twixt mj' lord and Cassio ? 
Jhs. A most unhappy one : I would do 
much 
To atone them, for the love I bear to Cassio. 
Oth. Fire and brimstone I 
Bes. j\Iy lord ? 

Oth. Are you wise ? 

iJes. What, is he angry ? 
Lod. Jlay be the letter moved him ; 

For, as I think, they do command him home, 
Deinitiug Cassio in his government. 
Des. Trust me, I am glad on't. 
Olh. Indeed ! 

Des. My lord ? 

Oth. I am glad to see you mad. 
Des. Whv, sweet Othello,— 250 

Oth. [Strikim/ her] 'Devil ! 
Des. I have not desers'ed this. 
Lod. My lord, this would not be believed 
in Venice, 
Though I should swear I saw't : 'tis vei-y 

much : 
Make her amends ; she weeps. 

Olh. O devil, devil ! 

If that the earth could teem with woman's tears. 
Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile. 
Out of my sight ! 
Des. I will not stay to offend you. [Goingk 



OTHELLO. 



[Act IV. 



' Lod. Truly, an obedient lady : 
I do beseech your lordship, call her back. 2G0 
Olh. Mistress ! 
Des. My lord ? 

0th, What would you with her, sir ? 

Lod. Who, I, my lord ? 
0th. Ay ; you did wisli that I would make 
her turn : 
Sir, she can turn, and tarn, and yet go on, 
And turn a^ain ; and she can weep, sir, weep ; 
And she's obedient, as you say, obedient, 
Very obedient. Proceed you in your tears. 
Concerning tliis, sir, — O well-painted pas- 
sion ! — 
I am commanded home. Get you away ; 
I'll send for you anon. Sir, I obey the man- 
date, ' 270 
And will return to Venice. Hence, avaunt ! 

\^Exit Dcsdemona. 
Cassio shall have my place. And, sir, to- 
night, 
I do entreat that we may sup together : 
You are welcome, sir, to Cj'prus. — Goats and 
monkej's ! [fJxit. 

Lod. Is this the noble Moor whom our full 
senate 
Call all in all sufficient ? Is this the nature 
Whom passion could not shake ? wliose solid 

virtue 
Tlie shot of accident, nor dart of chance, 
Could neither graze nor pierce ? 
lago. He is much changed. 

Lod. Are his wits safe ? is he not light of 
brain ? 280 

lago. He's that he is : I may not breathe 
my censure 
What he might be : if what he might he is 

not, 
I would to heaven he were ! 

Lod. What, strilce liis wife ! 

Lago. 'Faith, that was not so well ; yet 
would I knew 
That stroke would prove the worst ! 

Lod. Is it liis use ? 

Or did the letters work npon his blood. 
And new-create this fj(,ult ? 

lago. Alas, alas ! 

It is not honesty in me to speak 
What I have seen and known. You shall ob- 
serve him. 
And his own courses will denote him so 290 
Tliat I may save my speech : do but go after. 
And mark how he continues. 
Lod. I am sorry that I am deceived in him. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. A room in the castle. 
Enter Othello and Emilia. 

0th. You have seen nothing then ? 

Emil. Nor ever heard, nor ever did sus- 
pect. 

0th. Yes, you have seen Cassio and she 
together. 

Em'l But then I saw no harm, and then I 
heard 



Each syllable that breath made up between 
them. 
0th. What, did they never whisper ? 
Enid. Never, my lord. 

0th. Nor send you out o' the way ? 
Emil. Never. 
Olh. To fetch her fan, her gloves, her mask, 

nor nothing ? 
Emil. Never, my lord. 10 

0th. That's strange. 

Ei7iil. I durst, my lord, to wager she is 
honest. 
Lay down my soul at stake : if yon think 

other. 
Remove your thouglit ; it doth abuse your 

bosom. 
If any wretch have put this in your head. 
Let heaven requite it with the serpent's curse ! 
For, if she be not honest, chaste, and true. 
There's no man happy ; the purest of their 

wives 
Is foul as slander. 

0th. Bid her come liither : go. 

[Exit Emilia. 
She says enough ; yet she's a simple bawd 20 
That cannot say as much. This is a subtle 

whore, 
A closet lock and key of villanous secrets : 
And yet she'll kneel and pray ; I have seen 
her do 't. 

Enter Desdemona with Emilia. 

Des. My lord, what is your wili ? 
0th. Pray, chuck, come hither. 

Des. What is your pleasure ? 
0th. Let me see your eyes ; 

Look in mj^ face. 
De.'i. Wliat horrible fancy 's this ? 

0th. [ To Emilia] Some of your function, 
mistress ; 
Leave procreants alone and shut the door ; 
Cough, or cry ' hem,' if any body come : 
Your mystery, your mystery : nay, dispatch. 
[Exit Emilia. 30 
Des. Upon my knees, what doth your 
speecli import ? 
I understand a fury in your words. 
But not the words. 

0th. Why, what art thou ? 
Des. Your wife, my lord ; your true 

And loyal wife. 

0th. Come, swear it, damn thyself ; 

Lest, being like one of heaven, the devils 

themselves 
Should fear to seize thee : therefore be double 

damn'd : 
Swear thou art honest. 

Des. Heaven dotli truly know it. 

0th. Heaven truly knows that thou art false 

as hell. 
Des. To whom, my lord ? with whom ? 
how am I false ? 40 

0th. O Desdemona ! away ! away ! away ! 
Des. Alas the heavy day ! Why do you 
weep ? 
Am I the motive of these teftrs, my lorci ? 




Desdemon \. TA'W »tv fences, ivhat doth your speech import ? " 

Othello, p. 



SCENK II.] 



OTHELLO. 



809 



If haply you my father do suspect 

An instrument of this your calling back, 

Lay not your blame on me ; if you have lost 

him, 
Why, I have lost liim too. 

Olh. Had it ])leased heaven 

To try me with affliction ; had they nvin'd 
All kinds of sores and shames on my bare 

liead. 
Steep'd me in poverty to tlie very lips, 50 

Given to captiv ity me and my utmost hopes, 
I should have found in some place of my soul 
A drop of i),itience : but, alas, to make me 
t A fixed figure for the time of scorn 
To point his slow unmoving finger at ! 
Yet could I bear that too ; well, very well : 
But there, where I have garner'd ui) my heart, 
AVIiere either I must live, or bear no life ; 
The fountain from the which my current runs, 
Or el.se dries up : to be discarded thence ! GO 
Or keep it as a cistern for foul toads 
To kuot and gender in ! Turn thy complexion 

there, 
Patience, thou young and rose-lipp'd cheru- 

bin, — 
Ay, there, look grim as hell ! 

Dcs. I hope my noble lord esteems me 
honest. 

0th. O, ay ; as summer flies are in the 
•shambles. 
That quicken even with blowing. O thou 

weed. 
Who art so lovely fair and smell'st so sweet 
That the sense aches at thee, would thou hadst 
ne'er been born ! 

Des. Alas, what ignorant sin have I com- 
mitted ? 70 

Olh. Was this fair paper, this most goodly 
book, [mittod ! 

Made to write 'whore' upon? What coin- 
Committed ! thou public commoner ! 
I sliould make very forges of my cheeks, 
That would to cinders burn \\\) modesty, 
Did I but speak thj^ deeds. What committed! 
Heaven stops the nose at it and the moon 

winks. 
The bawdy wind that kisses all it meets 
Is hush'd within the hollow mine of earth, 
And will not hear it. What committed ! 80 
Impudent strum]iet ! 

Des. By heaven, you do me wrong. 

0th. Are you not a strumpet ? 

Des. No, as I am a Christian : 

If to preserve this vessel for my lord 
From any other foul unlawful touch 
Be not to be a strumpet, I am none. 

0th. What, not a whore ? 

Des. No, as I shall be saved. 

0th. Is't possible ? 

Des. 0, heaven forgive ns ! 

0th. I cry yon mercy, then : 

I took you for that cunning whore of Venice 
That married with Othello. [Raisuifj his voice] 
You, mistress, 90 

Th.-t have the office oiiposite to Saint Peter, 
And kee;) the gate of hell ! 



Re-enter Emilia. 

You, you, ay, you ! 
We have done our course ; there's money for 

your pains : 
I pray you, turn the key and keep our counsel. 

[Exit. 
Emil. Alas, what does this gentleman con- 
ceive ? 
How do you, madam ? how do you, my good 
lady ? 
Des. 'Faith, half asleep. 
Euiil. Good madam, what's the matter 

with my lord ? 
Des. AVith who ? 

Emil. Whv, with my lord, madam. 100 
Des. Who is thy lord ? 
Emil. He that is yours, sweet lady. 

Des. I have none : do not talk to uie, 
Emilia ; 
I cannot weep ; nor answer have I none. 
But what should go by water. Prithee, to- 
night 
Lay on my bed my wedding sheets : remem- 
ber ; 
And call tlij' husband hither. 
Emil. Here's a change indeed ! [Exit. 

Des. 'Tis meet I should be used so, very 
meet. 
How have I been behaved, that he might 

stick 
The small' st opinion on my least misuse ? 

Re-enter Emilia loith Iago. 

lago. What is your pleasure, madam ? 
How is't with you ? 110 

Des. I cannot tell. Those that do teach 
young babes 
Do it with gentle means and easy tasks : 
He might have chid me so ; for, in good faith, 
I am a child to chiding. 
L«I0. What's the matter, lady ? 

Emil. Alas, Iago, my lord hath so bewhored 
her. 
Thrown such despite and heavy terms upon 

her. 
As true hearts cannot bear. 
Des. Am I that name, Iago ? 
lacio. What name, fair lady ? 

Des. Such as she says my lord did say I 

was. 

Emil. He call'd her whore : a beggar in his 

drink 120 

Could not have laid such terms upon his callat. 

la'jo. Why did he so ? 

Des. I do not know ; I am sure I am none 

such. 
Ia<io. Do not weep, do not weep. Alas the 

day ! 
Emil. Hath she forsook so many noble 
matches, 
Her father and her country and her friends. 
To be call'd whore ? would it not make one 
weep ? 
Des. It is my wretched fortune. 
Iago, Ueshrew hira for't I 



810 



OTHELLO. 



[Act it. 



How comes this trick upon him ? 
Des. Nay, heaven doth know. 

Emil. I will be hang'd, if some eternal vil- 
lain, 100 
Some busy and insinuating rogue. 
Some cogging, cozening slave, to get some 

office, 

Have not devised this slander ; I'll be hang'd 

else. [possible. 

lago. Fie, there is no such man ; it is ini- 

Des. If any such there be, heaven pardon 

him ! 
Emil. A halter pardon liim ! and hell gnaw 
his bones ! 
Why sh.)uld he call her whore ? who keeps her 

company ? 
What place ? what time ? what form ? what 
likelihood ? [kna\ e, 

The Moor's abused by some most villanoiis 
Some base notorious knave, some scurvy fel- 
low. 140 

heaven, tliat such companions thou'ldst un- 

fold, 
And put in every lionest hand a whip 
To lash the rascals naked through the world 
Even from the east to the west ! 
lago. Speak vpithin door. 

Emil. O, fie upon them ! Some such squire 
he was 
That turu'd your wit the seamy side without. 
And made you to suspect me with the Moor. 
lago. You are a fool ; go to. 
Des. O good lago, 

Wliat shall I do to win my lord again ? 
Good friend, go to him ; for, by tliis light of 
heaven, 150 

1 know not how I lost him. Here I kneel : 
If e'er my will did trespass 'gainst liis love, 
Either in discourse of thought or actual deed. 
Or that mine eyes, mine ears, or any sense, 

D 'lighted tliem in any otiier form ; 

Or that 1 do not yet, and ever did, 

And ever will — though he do shak-e me off 

To beggarly divorcement— lo\e liiiu dearly, 

Comfort forswear me ! Unkindiiess may do 

much ; 
And liis unkindness may defeat my life, KiO 
Butnevertaintmy love. I cannot say 'whore:' 
It does ablior me now 1 speak the -vord ; 
To do tlie act that might tlie aihiitioii earn 
Not the world's mass of vanity could make me. 
lago. I pray you, be content ; 'tis but his 
humor : 
The business of the state does him offence, 
And he does chide with you. 
Des. If 'twere no other,— 
lago. 'Tis but so, I warrant. 

[Trumpets loithin. 
Hark, how these instruments summon to sup- 
per ! 
The messengers of Venice stay the meat ; 170 
Go in, and weep not ; all things shall be well. 
[Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia. 

Enter Roderigo, 
How now, Roderigo I 



Rod. I do not find that thou dealest justly 
with me. 

lago. What in the contrary ? 

Rod. Every day thou daffest me with some 
device, lago ; and rather, as it seems to me 
now, keepest from me all couvenieucy thau 
suppliest me witli the least afl vantage of hope. 
[ will indeed no longer endure it, nor am I yet 
persuaded to put up in peace what already I 
have foolishly suffered. 

lago. Will you hear me, Roderigo? 

Rod. 'Faith, I have heard too mucJi, for youi 
words and i)erformances are no kin together. 

Titgo. You cliarge me most unjustly. 

Rod. With no. ight but truth. 1 have wasted 
mj'self out of my means. The jewels you have 
had from me to deliver to Desdemona would 
half have corrupted a votarist : you have told 
me she hath received them and leturned mc 
exi)ectations and comforts of sudden respecl 
aiul acquaintance, but I find none. 

lago. Well ; go to ; very well. 

Rod. Very well ! go to ! I cannot go to, 
man ; nor 'tis not very well : nay, I think it 
is scurvy, and begin to find myself fobbed in it. 

lago. Very well. 

Rod. I tell you 'tis not very well. I will 
make myself known to Desdemona : if she 
will return me my jewels, I will give over my 
suit and repent my unlawful solicitation ; if 
not, assure yourself I will seek satisfaction of 
you. 

lago. You have said now. 

Rod. Ay, and said nothing but what I pro- 
test intendment of doing. 

lago. Wliy, now 1 see there's mettle in 
thee, and even from this instant to build or 
tliee a better opinion than ever before. Give 
me thy hand, Roderigo: thou hast taken 
against me a most just exception; but yet, I 
pi'otest, I have dealt most directl J' in thy affair. 

Rod. It hath not appeared. 

lago. I grant indeed it hath not appeared, 
and your suspicion is not witliout wit and 
jiul^inent. But. Roderigo, if thou hast that in 
thee iii-lr(;(l. wiiieh I liave greater reason to 
ljelie\c iiww th;in ever, 1 mean purpose, cour- 
a;;e and viiloi', tliis night show it : if thou the 
ne.xt nignt I'ollowing enjoy not Desdemona, 
t;ilie me Iroui this world with treachery and 
device engines for my life. 

Rt. Well, what is it? is it within reason 
auil compass ? 

lago. Sir, there is especial commission 
come from Venice to depute Cassio in Othel- 
lo's place. 

Rod. Is that true ? why, then Othello and 
Desdemona return again to Venice. 

lago. O, no ; he goes into Mauritania and 
takes away with him the fair Desdemona, un- 
less his abode be lingered here by some acci- 
dent : wherein none can be so determinate as 
the removing of Cassio. 

Rod. How do you mean, removing of him? 

lago. \^'hy, by making him uncapable of 
Ottello's place ; knocking out his brains. 



Scene hi.] 



OTHELLO. 



811 



Rod. And that you would have nie to do ? 

laf/o. Ay, if you dare do yonrselt a profit 
aud a right. He sui)s to-nis^ht with a harlotrj-, 
and thither will I go to him : he knows not 
yet of his honorable fortune. If you will 
watch his going thence, whicli I will fashion 
to fall out between twelve and one, you may 
take him at your pleasure : I will be near to 
second your attenqit, and he shall fall between 
us. Come, stand not amazed at it, but go 
along with me ; I will show you such a neces- 
sity in his death that you shall think yourself 
bound to put it on him. It is now high supi)er- 
time, aud the night grows to waste : about it. 

Rod. I will hear further reason for this. 

lago. And you shall be satisfied. [Exeunt. 

Scene III. Another room in the castle. 

Enter Othello, Lodovico, Desdemona, 
Emilia, and Attendants. 

Lod. I do beseech you, sir, trouble your- 
self no further. 
0th. 0, pardon me : 'twill do me good to 

walk. 
Lod. Madam, good night ; I humbly thank 

your ladyship. 
Des. Your honor is most welcome. 
0th. Will you walk, sir ? 

0, — Desdemona, — 
Dvs. My lord ? 

0th. Get you to bed on the iiistant ; I will 
be returned forthwith : dismiss your attendant 
there : look it be done. 
Dps. I will, my lord. 10 

[Exeunt Othello, Lodovico, and Attendants. 
Emil. How goes it now ? he looks gentler 

than he did. 
Des. He says he will return incontinent : 
He hath comnianded me to go to bed, 
And bade me to dismiss you. 
Emil. Dismiss me ! 

Des. It was his bidding : therefore, good 
Emilia, 
Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu : 
We must not now disi)lease him. 
Emil. I would you had never seen him ! 
Des. So would not I : ray love doth so ap- 
prove him, 
I'hat even his stubbornness, his checks, his 
frowns, — • 20 

Prithee, unpin me, — have grace and favor in 
them. 
Emil. I have laid those sheets you bade me 

on the bed. 
Des. All's one. Good faith, how foolish 
are our minds ! 
If I do die before thee, prithee, shroud me 
In one of those same sheets. 
Emil. Come, come, you talk. 

Des. My mother had a maid call'd Barbara : 
She was in love, and he she loved proved mad 
And did forsake her : she had a song of ' wil- 
low ;' 
An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune, 
And ebe died gioging it ; that song to-night 



Will not go from my mind ; I have much to do, 
But to go hang my head all at one side, 
And sing it like poor Barbara. Prithee, dis* 
patch. 
Emit. Shall 1 go fetch your night-gown ? 
Des. No, unpin me her«»-. 

This Lodovico is a proper man. 
Emil. A very handsome man. 
Des. He speaks well. 
Emil. I kn/)w a lady in Venice would have 
walked barefoot to Palestine for a touch of hit 
nether lip. 4t, 

Des. [Sinr/ing] The poor soul sat sighing by 

a sycamore tree, 
Sing all a green willow : 
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee, 

' Sing willow, willow, willow : 
The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur'd 
her moans ; 
Sing willow, willow, willow ; 
Her salt tears fell from her, aud soften'd the 

stones ; — 
Lay by the.se : — 

[Singing] Sing willow, willow, willow ; 
Prithee, hie thee ; he'll come anon : — 50 

[Singing] Sing all a green willow must be my 
garland. 
Let nobody blame him ; his scorn I approve, — ■ 
Nay, tliat's not next. — Hark ! who is't that 
knocks ? 
Emil. It's the wind. 

Des. [Singing] I call'd my love false love ; 
but what said he then ? 
Sing willow, willow, willow : 
If I court moe women, you'll couch with moe 
men. — [itch , 

So, get thee gone ; good night. Mine eyes do 
Doth that bode weeping ? 
Emil. 'Tis neither here nor there. 

Des. I have heard it said so. O, these men, 
these men ! 60 

Dost thou in conscience think, — tell me, Emi- 
lia,— 
That there be women do abuse their husbands 
In such gross kind ? 
Emil. There be some such, no question. 

Des. Wouldst thou do such a deed tor all 

the world ? 
Emil. Why, would not you ? 
TJes. No, by tliis heavenly light ! 

Emil. Nor I neither by this heavenly light; 
I might do't as well i' the dark. 
Des. Wouldst thou do such a deed for all 

the world ? 
Emil. The world's a huge thing : it is a 
great price 
For a small vice. 
Des. In troth, I think thou wouldst not. 70 
Emil. In trot, I think I shoidd ; and undo't 
when I had done. Marry, I would not do such 
a thing for a joint-ring, nor for measures oi 
lawn, nor for gowns, petticoats, nor caps, nor 
any petty exhibition ; but, for the whole 
world, — why, who would not make her hus- 
band a cuckold to make him a monarch.? I 
should venture purgatory for't 



812 



OTHELLO. 



fAcT V. 



De$. Beshrew me, if I would do such a 
wrong 
For the whole world. 79 

Emil. Why the wrong is but a wrong i' the 
world : and having the world for your labor, 
'tis a wrong in your own world, and you 
might quickly make it right. 

Des. I do not think there is any such wo- 
man, 

Emil. Yes, a dozen ; and as many to the 
vantage as would store the world they played 
for. 

But I do think it is their husbands* faults 
If wives do fall : say that they slack their du- 
ties. 
And pour our treasures into foreign laps, 
Or else break out in peevish jealousies, 90 
Throwing restraint upon us ; or say they strike 

us, 
Or scant our former having in despite ; 
Wliy, we liave galls, and though we have some 

grace. 
Yet have we some revenge. Let husbands know 
Their wives have sense like them : they see 

and smell 
And have their palates both for sweet and sour. 
As husbands have. What is it that they do 
When they change us for others ? Is it sport ? 
I think it is ; and doth affection breed it ? 
I think it doth : is't frailty that thus errs ? 100 
It is so too : and have not we affections. 
Desires for sport, and frailty, as men have ? 
Then let them use us well : else let them know. 
The ills we do, their ills in.struct us so. 
Des. Good niglit, good night : heaven me 
such uses send, 
Not to pick bad from bad, but by bad mend ! 

[Exeunt. 



ACT V. 



Scene I. Cyprus. A street. 

Enter Iago and Roderigo. 

lago. Here, stand behind this bulk ; straight 
will he come : 
Wear thy good rapier bare, and put it liome : 
Quick, quick ; fear nothing ; I'll be at thy 

elbow : 
It makes us, or it mars us ; think on that. 
And iix most firm thy resolution. 
Rod. Be near at hand ; I may miscarry in't. 
Iago. Here, at thy hand : heboid, and take 
thy stand. {Retires. 

Rod. I have no great devotion to the deed ; 
And yet he hath given me satisfying reasons : 
'Tis but a man gone. Forth, my sword : he 
dies. 10 

Iago. I have rubb'd this young quat almost 
to the sense. 
And he grows angry. Now, whether he kill 

Cassio, 
Or Cassio him, or each do kill the other. 
Every way makes my gain : live Roderigo, 
He c^lls me to a resititutiou large 



Of gold and jewels that I bobb'd from him, 
As gifts to Desdemona ; 
It must not be : if Cassio do remain. 
He hath a daily beauty in his life 
That makes me ugly ; and, besides, the Moor 
May unfold me to him ; there stand I in much 
peril : 21 

No, he must die. But so : I hear him coming. 

Enter Cassio. 
Rod. I know his gait, 'tis he. — Villain, thou 
diest ! [Makes a pass at Cassio. 

Cas. That thrust had been mine enemy in- 
deed. 
But that my coat is better than thou know'st : 
I will make proof of thine. 

[Draws, and looiinds Roderigo. 

Rod. 0, I am slain ! 

[Iago from behind loounds Cassio in tin 

leg. and exi 

Cas. I am raaim'd for ever. Help, lio '. 

murder ! murder ! [Falls. 

Enter Othello. 
0th. Tlie voice of Cassio : Iago keeps his 

word. 
Rod. O, villain that I am ! 
0th. It is even so. 

Cas. O, help, ho ! light ! a surgeon ! rso 
0th. 'Tis he : — O brave Iago, honest and 
just, 
That hast such noble sense of thy friend's 

wrong ! 
Thou teachest me. Minion, your dear lies 

dead. 
And your unblest fate hies : strumpet, I come. 
Forth of my heart those charms, thine eyes, 

are blotted ; 
Thy bed, lust-stain'd, shall with lust's blood 
be spotted. [Exit. 

Enter Lodovico and Gratiano. 
Cas. What, ho ! no watch ? no passage ? 

murder ! murder ! 
Gra. 'Tis some mischance ; the cry is very 

direful. 
Cas. O, help ! 

Lod. Hark ! 40 

Rod. O wretched villain ! 
Lod. Two or three groan : it is a heavy 

night : 
These may be counterfeits : let's think't un- 
safe 
To come in to the cry without more helj). 
Rod. Nobody come ? then shall I bleed to 

death. 
Lod. Hark ! 

Re-enter Iago, with a light. 
Gra. Here's one comes in his shirt, with 

light and weapons. 
Iago. Who's there ? whose noise is this 

that cries on murder ? 
Lod. We do not know. 
Iago. Did not you hear a cry ? 

Cas. Here, here I for heaveu's sake, hely 



Scene i.] 



OTHELLO. 



813 



logo. What's the matter ? 50 

Gra. This is Othello's ancient, as I take it. 

Loci. The same indeed ; a very valiant fel- 
low. 

lago. What are yon here that cry so griev- 
ously ? 

Cas. lago ? 0, I am spoil'd, imdone by 
villains ! 
Give me some help. 

lago. me, lieutenant ! what villains have 
done this ? 

Cas. I think that one of them is hereabout. 
And cannot make away. 

lago. treacherous villains ! 

What are you there ? come in, and tJive some 

help. [To Lodovico and Gratiano. 

Rod. O, help me liere ! 60 

Cas. That's one of them. 

lago. murderous slave ! villain ! 

[Stabs Roden'go. 

Rod. O damn'd lago ! inhuman dog ! 

lago. Kill men i' the dark ! — Where be 
these bloody thieves ? — 
How silent is this town ! — Ho ! murder ! 

murder ! — 
What may you be ? are you of good or evil ? 

Lod. As you shall prove us, praise us. 

lago. Signior Lodovico ? 

Lod. He, sir. 

lago. I cry you mercy. Here's Cassio hurt 
by villains. 

Gra. Cassio ! 70 

lago. How is't, brother ! 

Cas. My leg is cut in two. 

lago. Marry, heaven forbid ! 

Light, gentlemen ; I'll bind it with my shirt. 

Enter Bianca. 

Bian. What is the matter, ho ? who is't 

that cried ? 
lago. Who is't tliat cried ! 
Bian. O my dear Cassio ! my sweet Cassio ! 
O Cassio, Cassio, Cassio ! 
lago. O notable strumpet ! Cassio, may 
you suspect 
Who they should be that have thus mangled 
you? 
Cas. No. 80 

Gra. I am sorry to find you thus : I have 

been to seek you. 
lago. Lend me a garter. So. O, for a chair, 
To bear him easily hence ! 
Bian. Alas, he faints ! O Cassio, Cassio, 

Cassio ! 
lago. Gentlemen all, I do suspect this trash 
To be a party in this injury. 
Patience awhile, good Cassio. Come, come ; 
Lend me a light. Know we this face or no ? 
Alas my friend and my dear countryman 
Roderigo ! no : — yes, sure : — O heaven ! Rod- 
erigo. 90 

Gra. What, of Venice ? 
lago. Even he, sir ; did you know him ? 
Gra. Know him ! ay 

lago. Signior Gratiano ? I cry you gentle 
pardou ; 



These bloody accidents must excuse my man- 
ners. 
That so neglected you. 

Gra. I am glad to see you. 

lago. How do you, Cassio ? O, a chair, a 

chair ! 
Gra. Roderigo ! 

lago. He, he, 'tis he. [A chair brought in,"] 

O, tliat's well said ; the chair. 

Some good man bear him carefully from hence; 

I'll fetch the general's surgeon. [To Bianca] 

For you, mistress, 100 

Save you your labor. He that lies slain here, 

Cassio, [you ? 

Was ray dear friend : what malice was between 

Cos. None in the world ; nor do I know 

the man. 
lago. [To Bian.] What, look you pale ? 0, 
bear liim out o' tlie air. 

[Cassio and Roderigo are borne off. 
Stay j'ou, good gentlemen. Look you pale, 

mistress ? 
Do you perceive the ga.stness of her eye ? 
Nay, if you stare, we shall hear more anon. 
Behold her well ; I pray you, look upon her : 
Uo you see, gentlemen ?" nay, guiltiness will 

speak. 
Though tongues were out of use. 110 

Enter Emilia. 
Emil. 'Las, what's the matter ? what's the 

matter, husband ? 
lago: Cassio hath here been set on in the 
dark 
By Roderigo and fellows that are scaped : 
He's almost slain, and Roderigo dead. 
Emil. Alas, good gentleman ! alas, good 

Cassio ! 
lago. Tliis is the fruit of whoring. Prithee, 
Emilia, 
Go know of Cassio where he supp'd to-night. 
[To Bianca] What, do you shake at that ? 
Bian. He supp'd at my house ; but I there- 
fore shake not. 
lago. O, did he so ? I charge you, go with 
me. 120 

Emil. Fie, fie upon thee, strumpet ! 
Bian. I am uo strumpet ; but of life as 
honest 
As you that thus abuse me. 
Emil. As I ! foh ! fie upon thee ! 

lago. Kind gentlemen, let's go see poor 
Cassio dress'd. 
Come, mistress, you musttell's another tale. 
Emilia, run you to the citadel. 
And tell my lord and lady what hath happ'd. 
Will you go on ? I pray. [Aside] This is the 

night 
That either makes me or fordoes me quite. 

[Exeitnt. 

Scene H. A bedchamber in the castle : Des- 
DEMOXA in bed asleep ; a light burning. 

Enter Othello. 
0th. It is the cause, it is the cause, my 
soul, — 



814 



OTHELLO. 



i Act V 



Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars ! — 
it is the cause. Yet I'll not shed her blood ; 
Nor scar tliat whiter skin of hers than snow, 
And smooth as monumental alabaster. 
Yei she must die, else she'll betray more men. 
Put out the li.^ht, and then put out the light : 
If I quench tliee, thou flaming minister, 
I can again tliy former light restore, 9 

Should 1 rei)ent me : but once put out thy light, 
Thou cunning'st i)attern of excelling nature, 
I know not wliere is that Promethean heat 
That can thy light relume. When I have 

pluclc'd the rose, 
I cannot give it vital growth again, 
It must ne(!ds wither : I'll smell it on the tree. 

[Kissiiif/ her. 
Ah, b:ilmy breatli, that dost almost persuade 
Justice to break her sword ! One more, one 

more. 
Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill 

thee, 
And love tliee aftei*. One more, and this the 

last : 
So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep, 20 
But they are cruel tears : this sorrow's heav- 
enly ; 
It strikes wliere it doth love. She wakes. 
Bes. Who's there ? Othello ? 
Olh. Ay, Desdemona. 

Des. Will you come to bed, jny lord ? 
0th. Have you pray'd to-night, Desdemona? 
Des. Ay, my lord. 

0th. If you bethink yourself of any crime 
Jnreconciled as yet to heaven and grace. 
Solicit for it straight. 
Des. Alas, my lord, what do you mean by 

that ? 
0th. Well, do it, and be brief ; I will walk 
by : 30 

I would not kill tliy unprepared spirit ; 
No; heaven forfend ! I would not kill thy soul. 
/)e,s\ Talk vou of killing ? 
0th. " Ay, I do. 

Des. Then heaven 

Have mercj' on me ! 

0th. Amen, with all my heart ! 

Des. If you say so, I hope you will not kill 

me. 
0th. Hum ! 

Des. And yet I fear you ; for you are fatal 
then 
When your eyes roll so : why I should fear I 

know not, 
Since guiltiness I know not ; but yet I feel I 
fear. 
0th. Think on thy sins. 
Des. They are loves I bear to you. 40 

0th. Ay, and for that thou diest. 
Des. That death's unnatural that kills for 
loving. 
Alas, why gnaw you so your nether lip ? 
Some bloody passion shakes your very frame: 
These are portents ; but yet I hope, I hope, 
They do not point on me. 

0th. Peace, and be still ! 

Des. I will so. What's the matter ? 



0th. That handkerchief which I so loved 
and gave thee 
Thou gavest to Cassio. 

Des. No, by my life and sou' ! 

Send for the man, and a.skhim. 

Olh. Sweet soul, take heed, 50 

Take heed of perjury ; thou art on thv death- 
bed. 

Des. Ay, but not yet to die. 

Olh. Yes, presently ; 

Therefore confess thee freely of thy sin ; 
¥oT to deny each article with oath 
Cannot remove nor choke the strong concep- 
tion 
That I d'j groan withal. Thou art to die. 

Des Then Lord have mercy on me ! 

Olh. I say, amen. 

Dt's. And have you mercy too ! I never did 
Offend you in my life ; never loved Cassio 
But with such general warranty of heaven 60 
A-i I might love ; I never gave him token. 

0th. By heaven, I saw my handkerchief 
in's hand. 

perjured woman ! thou dost stone my 

heait. 
And makest me call what I intend to do 
A murder, whicli I thought a saciifice : 

1 saw the handkerchief. 

Di's. He found it then ; 

I never gave it him : send for him hither ; 
Let him confess a truth. 

0th. He hath confess' d. 

Des. What, my lord ? 
0th. That he hath used thee. 
Des. How ? unlawfullv ? 

0th. Ay. 70 

Des. He will not say so. 
0th. No, his mouth is stopp'd ; 

Honest lago hath ta'en order fort. 
Des. ! my fear interprets : what, is he 

dead ? 
0th. Had all his hairs been lives, my great 
revenge 
Had stomach for them all. 

Z)es. Alas ! he is betray' d and I undone. 
0th. Out, strumpet ! weep'st thou for him 
to my face ? [not ! 

Des. 0, banish me, my lord, but kill nie 
0th. Down, strumpet ! 
Des. Kill me to-morrow : let me live to- 
night ! 80 
0th. Nay, if you strive, — 
Des, But half an hour ! 
Olh. Being done, there is no pause. 
Des. But while I say one prayer ! 
0th. ' It is too late. 
[He stifles her. 
Emil. [Withiii] My lord, my lord! what, 

ho ! mv lord, mv lord ! 
0th. What noise is'this ? Not dead ? not 
yet quite dead ? 
I that am cruel am yet merciful ; 
I would not have thee linger in.thy pain ; 
So, so. 
Emil. [ Within] What, ho ! my lord, my 
lord I 



Scene ir.] 



OTItELLO. 



81; 



0th. Who's there ? 

Eiiiil. [ Withiri] O, good my lord, I would 

speak a word with you ! !)() 

0th. Yes : 'tis Emilia,. By aud by. She's 

dead. 
*Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio'.s 

death. — 
The noise was here. Ha ! no more moving ? 
Still as the grave. Shall she come in ? v-x-ie't 

good ? — 
I think she stirs again : — no. What's best to 

do ? 
Z' she come in, she'll sure speak to my wife : 
My wile! my wile! what wile? I have no 

wife. 
0, insupportable ! O heavy hour ! 
Metliiuks it should be now a huge eclipse 
Of sun and moon, and tiuit tlie ati'righted 

globe 
Should yawn at alteration. 

Emil. [ Within] 1 do beseech you 101 

Tiiat 1 may p|)eak with you, O, good my lord! 

0th. 1 liad forgot thee : O, come in, Emilia; 

Soft ; by and by. Let me the curtains draw. 

Wliere art thou ? [Unlocks the door. 

Enter Emilia. 

What's the matter with thee now ? 
Emil. O, my good lord, youder's foul mur- 
ders done ! 
0th. What, now ? 
Emil. But now, my lord. 
0th. It is the very error of the moon ; 
She comes more nearer earth than she was 
wont, 110 

And makes men mad. 
Emil. Cassio, my lord, liath kill'd a young 
Venetian 
Call'd Roderigo. 

0th. Roderigo kill'd ! 

And Cassio kill'd ! 
Emil. No, Cassio is not kill'd. 

0th. Not Cassio kill'd ! then murder's out 
of tune. 
And sweet revenge grows liarsh. 
Des. O, falsely, falsely murder'd ! 
Emil. Alas, what cry is that ? 

0th. That ! what ? 

Emil. Out, and alas! that was my lady's 
voice. Hit 

Help ! hell), 1"^' \\v\\y ! O lady, speak again ! 
Sweet Desdeniona I O sweet mistress, speak ! 
Des. A guiltless death I die. 
Emil. O, who hath done this deed ? • 
Di». Nol)ody ; I myself. Farewell: 
Commend me to my kind lord : O, farewell ! 

[Dies. 
0th. AVhy, how should she be murder'd ? 
Emil. Alas, who knows ? 

0th. You heard her say herself, it was not I. 
Emil. She said so : 1 must needs report the 

truth. 
0th. She's, like a liai% gone to burning hell : 
'Twas I that kill'd her. 

Emil. O, the more angel she, 130 

Aud you the blacker devil I 



0th. She turu'd to folly, and she was a 

whore. 
Emil. Thou dost belie her, aud thou art a 

devil. 
Olh. She was false as water. 
Emil. Thou art rash as fire, to say 

That she was false : O, she was hea^enlv 
true! [elsi 

Oth. Cassio did top her ; ark thy husbauu 
O, ! were daum'd beneath all depth' in iiell, 
But that I (lid proceed upon just grounds 
To this extiemity. Thv husband knew it all 
Emil. Mv luisband! 1^0 

(Jth. Thy husband. 

Emil. That she was false to wedlocic ? 
Otli. Ay, with Cassio. Nay, had she been 
true, 
If heaven would make me such another world 
Of one eutiie and jierfect chrysolite, 
I'ld not ha\ e sold her for it. 
Emil. My husband ! 

Oth. Ay, 'twas he that told m«. fiist : 

.\n honest man lie is, and hates tlie sliuie 
That sticks on filthy deeds. 
E)nil. My husband ! 

OlJi. What needs this iteration, woman ? I 
say thy husband. loO 

Emil. mistress, villauy hath made mocks 
with love, 
My husband say that she was false ! 

Oth. He, woman ; 

I say thj^ husband : dost understand the 

word ? 
My friend, thy husband, honest, honest lago. 
Emil. If he say so, may his pernicious soul 
Rot half a grain a day 1 he lies to the heart : 
She was too foud of her most filthy bargain. 
Oth. Ha ! 

Emil. Do thy wonst : 
This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven 
Than thou wast worthy her. Kil 

Oth. Peace, you were best. 

Emil. Thou hast not half that power to do 
me harm 
As I have to be hurt. gull ! dolt ! 
As ignorant as dirt ! thou hast done a deed — 
I care not for thy sword ; I'll make thee 

known, 
Though 1 lost twenty lives. — Help ! help, ho ! 

help ! 
The Moor hath kill'd mj' mistress ! Murder ! 
murder ! 

Enter Montano, Gratiano, Iago, and 

others. 

Mon. What is the matter ? How now, gen- 
eral ! 

Emil. 0, are you come, Iago? yoii have 
done well. 
That men must lay their murders on your 
neck. 170 

Gra. What is the matter ? 

Emil. Disprove this villain, if thou be'st a 
man : 
He says thou told'st hiijj that his M(ife 'vaa 



816 



OTHELLO. 



[Act v. 



j know thou didst not, thou'rt not such a vil- 
lain : 
Speak, for my heart is full. 
lago. I told him what I thought, and told 
no more 
Thau what he found himself was apt and 
true. 
Emil. But did you ever tell him she was 

false ? 
lago. I did. 

Emil. You told a lie ; an odious, damned 

lie ; 180 

Upon my soul, a lie, a wicked lie. 

She false with Cassio ! — did you say with 

Cassio ? 

lago. Witli Cassio, mistress. Go to, charm 

your tongue. 
Emil. I will not charm my tongue ; I am 
hound to si)eak : 
My mistress liere lies murder'd in her bed, — 
All. heavens forfeud ! 
Emil. And your reports have set the mur- 
der on. 
Olh. Nay, stare not, masters : it is true, 

indeed. 
Gra. 'Tis a strange truth. 
Mon. monstrous act! 
Emil. Yillany, villany, villany ! 190 

1 think upon't, I thiuk : I smeD't: O villauy ! — 
I thought so then : — I'll kill myself for 
grief :— 

villanj-, villauy ! 

lago. What, are you mad ? I charge you, 
get you home. 

Emil. Good gentlemen, let me have leave 
to speak : 
'Tis proper I obey him, but not now. 
Perchance, lago, I will ne'er go home. 

0th. Ov' d ! O : [He falls on the bed. 

Emil. Niiy, lay thee down and roar ; 

For thou hast kill'd the sweetest innocent 
That e'er did lift up eve. 

0th. [Eising] O, she was foul ! 200 

1 scarce did know you, uncle : there lies your 

niece, 
Wliose breath, indeed, these bauds have new- 
ly stopp'd : 
I know this act shows horrible and grim. 
Gra. Poor Desdemoua ! I am glad thy 
father's dead : 
Thj' match was mortal to him, and pure grief 
Shore his old thread in twain : did he live 

now, 
This sight would make liira do a desperate 

turn. 
Yea. curse his better angel from his side, 
And fall to reprobation. 

Olh. 'Tis pitiful ; but yet lago knows 210 
That she with Cassio hath the act of shame 
A thousand times committed ; Cassio con- 
fess' d it : 
And she did gratify his amorous works 
With that recognizance and pledge of love 
Which I first gave her ; I saw it in his hand : 
It was a handkerchief, an antique token 
My father gave my mother. 



Emil. heaven ! heavenly powers ! 
lago. Come, hold your peace. 
Emil. 'Twill out, 'twill out : I peace ! 

No, I will speak as liberal as the north : 220 
Let heaven and men and devils, let them all, 
All, all, cry shame against me, yet I'll speak. 
lago. Be wise, and get you home. 
Emil. I will not 

[lago offers to stab Emilia. 
Gra. Fie.' 

Your sword upon a woman ? 
E7nil. O thou dull Moor ! that handker 
chief thou speak' st of 
I found by fortune and did give my husband: 
For often, with a solemn earnestness. 
More than indeed belong' d to such a trifle. 
He begg'd of me to steal it. 
lago. Yillanous whore ! 

Emil. She give it Cassio ! no, alas ! I found 
it, 230 

And I did give't my husband. 
lago. Filth, thou liest ! 

Emil. By heaven, I do not, I do not, gen- 
tlemen. 
O murderous coxcomb ! what should such a 

fool 
Do with so good a woman ? 

0th. Are there nc stones in heaven 

But what serve for the thunder? — Precious 

viUian ! 

[He runs at lago : lago, from behind, 

stabs Emilia, and exit. 

Gra. The woman falls ; sure, he hath kill'd 

his wife. 
Emil. Ay, ay : O, lay me by my mistress' 

side. 
Gra. He's gone, but his wife's kill'd. 
Mon. 'Tis a notorious villain. Take you this 
weapon, 
AVliich I have here recover'd from the Moor : 
Come, guard the door without ; let him not 
pass, 241 

But kill him rather. I'll after that same vil- 
lain. 
For 'tis a damned slave. 

[Exeunt Montana and Gratiano. 
Olh. I am not valiant neither, 

But every puny whipster gets my sword : 
But why should honor outlive honesty ? 
Let it go all. 

Emit. What did thy song bode, lady ? 
Hark, canst thou hear me ? I will play the 

swan. 
And die in music. [Singing] Willow, willow, 

willow, — 
Moor, she was chaste ; she loved thee, cruel 

Moor ; 
So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true; 250 
So speaking as I thiuk, I die, I die. [Dies. 

0th. I have another weapon in this cham- 
ber ; 
It is a sword of Spain, the j<'e-brook's tem- 
per : — 
O, here it is. Uncle, I must come forth. 
G^'t. [Within\ If thou attempt it, it will 
cost thee dear : 



Scene u.] 



OTHELLO. 



n-> 



Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suf- 
fer. 
0th. Look in upon mo then and speak with 
me. 
Or, naked as I am, I will assault thee. 

Rc-enler Gratiano. 

Gra. What is tlie matter ? 

0th. Behold, 1 have a weapon ; 

A better uever did itself sustain 2G0 

Upon a soldier's thigh : 1 have seen the day, 

That, with this little arm and this good sword, 

I have made my way through more impedi- 
ments 

Than twenty times your stop : but, vain 
boast ! 

Who can control his fate ? 'tis not so now. 

Be uot afraid, though you do see me weap- 
ou'd ; 

llere is my journey's end, here is my butt. 

And very sea-mark of my utmost sail. 

Do you go back dismay'd ? 'tis a lost fear ; 

Man but a rush against Othello's breast, 270 

And he retires. Where should Othello go ? 

Now, liow dost thou look uow ? O ill-starr'd 
wench ! 

Pale as thy smock ! when we shall meet at 
compt,. 

This look of thine will hurl my soul from 
heaven, 

And fiends will snatch at it. Cold, cold, my 
girl ! 

Even like thy chastity. cursed slave ! 

Whip me, ye devils, 

Froiu the possession of this heavenly sight ! 

Blow me about iu winds ! roast me in sul- 
phur ! 

Waslj me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire ! 

O Dcsdemona ! Desdemona ! dead ! 281 

Oh ! Oh ! Oh I 

Enter Lodovico, Montano, Cxssio caiTied in 
a chair, and Officers loith Iago, prisoner. 

Lod. Where is this rash and most imfor- 

tunate man ? 
0th. That's he that was Othello : Iiere I 

am. 
Lod. Where is that viper ? bring the villain 

forth. 
0th. I look down towards his feet; but that's 
a fable. 
If that thou bc'st a devil, I cannot kill thee. 

[ Wounds Iii'jo. 
Lod. Wrench his sword from Iiim. 
lario. I bleed, sir ; but not kill'd. 

Oih. I am uot sorry neither : I' Id have thee 
live ; 
For, in my sense, 'tis happiness to die. 290 
Lod. O thou Othello, thou wert once so 
good, 
FalTn in the practice of a damned slave, 
What shall bo said to thee ? 

0th. Why, any thing : 

An honorable murderer, if you will ; 
For aOHgbt \ $ii4 iQ hate^ buf alj in UqWFi 



Lod. This wretch hath part confess'd his 
villany : 
Did vou and he consent iu Cassio's death ? 
oih. Ay. 

Cus. Dear general, I never gave you cause. 
0th. I do believe it, and I ask your pardon. 
Win you, I pray, demand that demi-devil ."301 
Why ho hath thus ensnared my soul and 
body ? 
Iago. Demand me nothing : what you know, 
you know : 
From this time forth I never will speak word. 
Lod. What, not to pray ? 
Gm. Torments will ope your lips. 

0th. Well, tliou dost best. 
Lod. Sir, you shall understand what hath 
befall'n, 
Which, as I think, you know not. Horo is a 

letter 
Fcinnd in the ]iocket of the slain Roderigo ; 
And here another : the ono of them imports 
Tlie death of Cassio to be undertook 311 

By Roderigo. 
"Oth. O villain ! 

('((s. IMost heathenish and most gross .' 

Lod. Now here's another discontented 
paper, 
Found in his pocket too ; and this, it .seems, 
Roderigo meant to have sent tliis daumed vil- 
lain ; 
But that bclilce Ingo in the interim 
Came in and satisfied him. 

Oth. O the pernicious caitiff 1 

IIow came you, Cnssio, by that handkerchief 
That was my wife's ? 

Cus. , I found it in my chamber : 320 
And he himself confess'd but even now 
That there he dropp'd it for a special purpose 
Which wrought to his desire. 

Oth. O fool ! fool ! fool ! 

Cus. Tliere is besides in Roderigo's letter, 
IIow he upbraids Iago, tliat he made him 
Brave me upon the watch ; whereon it camo 
That I was cast : and even but now he spake. 
After long seeming dead, Iago hurt him, 
Iago set him on. 
Lod. You must forsake this room, and .go 
with us : 330 

Your power and j'our command is taken off. 
And Cassio rules in Cyprus. For this slave. 
If there be any cunning cruelty 
That can torment him much and hold him 

long. 
It shall be his. You shall clo.se prisoner rest, 
Till that the nature of your fault be known 
To the Venetian stjite. Come, bring him 
away. 
Oth. Soft you ; a word or two before jou 
go. 
I have done the state some service, and they 

know't. 
No more of that. I pray you, in your letters, 
When you shall these luilucky deeds relate, 
Speak of me as I am ; nothing extenuate, 
Ngr set down uught in malice : then must yoq 

63 



818 



OTHELLO. 



[Act v. 



Of one that loved not wisely but too well ; 
Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought 
Perplex'd in the extreme; of one whose 

hand, 
Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away 
Richer than all his tribe ; of one whose sub- 
dued eyes, 
Albeit unused to the melting mood, 
Drop tears as fust as the Arabian trees 350 
Their medicinal gum Set you down this ; 
And say besides, that in Aleppo once, 
Where a malignant and aturban'd Turk 
Beat a Venetian and traduced the state, 
I took by the throat the circumcised dog 
And smote liim, thus. [_Siabs himself. 

Loci. O bloody period ! 

Gra. All that's spoke is marr'd. 

0th. I kiss'd thee ere I kili'd thee : no way 
b'xt this ; 



Killing myself, to die upon n kiss. 

[Falls on the bed, and dies. 
Cas. This did I fear, but thought he had no 
weapon ; 360 

For he was great of heart. 

Lod. [To Iago\ Spartan dog, 

More fell than anguish, hunger, or the sea ! 
Look on the tragic loading of this bed ; 
This is thy work : the object poisons sight ; 
Let it be hid. Gratiano, keep the house, 
And seize upon the fortunes of the Moor, 
For they succeed on you. To you, lord gover- 
nor, 
Remains the censure cf this hellish villain ; 
The time, the place, the tortur«> : O, enforce 

it! 
Myself will straight aboard : and to the state 
This heavy act with heavy heajt relate. 371 

[Exeuni. 



i 



